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Castle Compton had for years been the chief seat of 
the Dukes of Masborough. The title of the first duke 
of that name dated far back in the fifteenth century. 
The dukedom was a rich one and had estates attached to 
it, with long rent rolls, in various parts of England. 
Probably the income was nearly 100,000Z. a year, which 
even in these days of large commercial fortunes is suffi- 
cient to entitle an aristocrat to respect. The young Duke 
of Masborough at three-and-twenty was a standing ex- 
ample of the evils of primogeniture. If there had been no 
law of that description, the property would have long ago 
been split up amongst his uncles and granduncles, and 
probably been of more use to the State than it was in 
his hands. But the knell of the law of primogeniture 
and entail has not yet sounded. 

Arthur Arundel Masham, Duke of Masborough, came 
into the title at the early age of fifteen, when he was at 


2 The Nobleman on the Turf. 

Eton. His father, who had held various leading posi- 
tions in the country, owing to the influence which the 
noble old "Whig families can always command, to the 
exclusion of better men, made an esteemed friend and 
member for the county of Cheshire, in which Castle 
Compton was situated, his guardian. Mr. Ommaney 
Lane "Whittaker, M.P., was a person totally unfitted 
for the post, for though well-meaning, he had little 
strength of mind, and detested anything which gave 
him the least trouble, which is a peculiarity not con- 
fined to members of the Commons' House, as it is the 
fashion to call the first club in London. 

The Duchess of Masborough wa3 very fond of her 
child, and. as a matter of course, spoilt him in the most 
rgivgi' u-lv absurd manner, letting him have his own 
way in everthing and do very much as he liked. At 
t! :•■ age of eighteen he went up to Oxford from Eton, 
and evinced no inclination to take a degree ; the 
lit'le knowledge he had acquired at Eton just enabling 
him to matriculate, and at Oriel he did his best to 
forget what he had already learnt. We need scarcely 
add that in this laudable endeavour he was as highly 
succrs-ful as his sinccrcst admirers could wish. 

Alter three years' stay at Oxford, he signalised him- 
self cue fifth of November by an exploit, in which the 
dest ni<! icn liv burning of a college pump in a quad was 
tlir prinrijial feature, and it was deemed advisableby 
1;h mother and guardian to withdraw him, for a time 
at Ic.i-t. from that ancient and classic seat of learning, 
a< lie showed a stronger disposition for fighting bargees 
.and riilin^ in steeple-chases, than he did for the acqui- 
sition of (J reek, Latin, and the higher mathematics. 

Foreign travel was suggested. It usually is in such 
cases, and it was determined that he should, like Lord 
Lo veil in the song, ' Go foreign countries for to see.' 
(Chorus ad libitum.') The next thing was to find him 

Castle Compton. 3 

a fit and proper travelling companion, and at his own 
particular request a gentleman, whose acquaintance he 
had made at Oxford, and who belonged to one of the 
Halls and had just taken his Master's degree, was 
selected as his travelling tutor, at a salary of five 
hundred a year and his expenses. 

The gentleman's name was Stoney Hines. No one 
knew much about his family. He had gained an exhi- 
bition at some provincial school, and so gone up to the 
University, aided by a small allowance from his father, 
it was said, and it was further whispered that his 
father was, or had been, a gaol chaplain somewhere in 
the South of England. No one could say, however, that 
Mr. Stoney Hines was a fool. His enemies, and he was 
sufficiently individualised and clever to have many, 
admitted that he was a young man of brilliant genius, 
who had made his way at the University solely by his 
talents, which had gained him respect, if not esteem. 

Neither the duchess nor Mr. Whittaker thought of 
inquiring about his principles or moral character. He 
was clever. He would coach Masborough and get him 
on. He could speak French and knew a little German, 
and was therefore admirably fitted for the young noble- 
man's companion. In addition to this, he was six or 
seven years older. Thirty is an age of discretion ; he 
would keep his volatile charge in check, and so they 
started together. The duchess gave her son her bless- 
ing, and Mr. Ommaney Lane Whittaker — he being just 
of age — gave him the unlimited control of his affairs, 
the power to spend an income of nearly ten thousand a 
month, and contented himself with advising him not to 
go ahead too much, although he admitted it was ne- 
cessary that an English duke should keep up the 
reputation of his class abroad. 

At the time our story opens, the Duke of Masborough 
and his tutor, Mr. Stoney Hines, had been absent two 

B 2 

4 The Nobleman on the Turf. 

years. The duchess had heard of them at almost every 
part of Europe, and the Mediterranean coasts of Africa 
and Asia. They had announced their intention of 
returning home. It was in December, and they were 
to arrive two days before Christmas. Castle Compton 
put on an unwonted appearance of gaiety and bustle. 
A select circle of friends (according to the Morning 
Post) were invited to spend Christmas at the castle ; 
the staff of servants was increased, and general prepa- 
rations for rejoicing and being merry were made. 
Among the guests who first arrived were Mr. Ommaney 
Lane Whittaker, still M.P for the long-suffering 
county of Cheshire. The constituency might have 
found a more efficient member, but they shopily re- 
flected that Mr. Whittaker was rich, and highly re- 
spectable, and owned a deal of land in the county, and, 
besides that, his father had occupied the same position 
before him. How could they turn him out after all 
these qualifications for the post were taken into con- 
sideration ? The thing was clearly impossible. So 
respectable imbecility as usual carried the day. With 
Mr. Whittaker arrived Captain Douglass Arnott, and 
his sister, Emily Arnott ; their mother and father were 
to follow on Christmas-day. The Arnotts were also 
local celebrities, and landowners for nobody knew how 
many generations. Mr. Arnott boasted that he would 
give his daughter a clot of 50,000£. down on the nail 
when she married, provided she did so with his consent, 
and consequently the fortune hunters swarmed about 
her like so many flies around a pot of honey. But 
Emily Arnott remembered that, before Masborough 
went abroad with Mr. Hines, he had told her, while 
walking in the gardens of the castle, on a summer 
evening, with his arm round her waist, and his eyes 
burning into hers, that he loved her ; and she believed 
him, and thought herself happy, for she too loved the 

Castle Compton. 5 

handsome young nobleman with all her heart and soul. 
Miss Arnott was young, pretty, and susceptible. Most 
fair-haired young ladies of nineteen, with baby faces, 
think love the Alpha and Omega of life, and she was no 
exception to the general rule. Certainly she was 
extremely attractive, and when the duchess saw the 
turn affairs were taking she was much pleased, hoping 
that her son might indeed marry Miss Arnott, whom 
she was quite willing to receive as her daughter-in-law. 
A mother does not always approve of her son's wife, 
either before or after marriage, and there must have 
been something very agreeable about Emily to induce 
her to regard her with so much favour. But she had 
known her and her friends all the girl's life, and that 
made a difference, perhaps. 

At first Masborough wrote often to Miss Arnott, and 
his letters contained expressions of affection which her 
soul fed upon as the gods drank ambrosia. After a 
time his communications were not so frequent, and 
their tone grew colder. To account for this change she 
was utterly at a loss. She could not accuse herself of 
any fault. She grew uneasy, and became miserable 
when Masborough told her that he was going to make 
a journey to Mecca, and could not give her any address 
to write to. After this she heard no more from him. 
In subsequent letters to his mother he said — ' Remem- 
ber me very warmly to Emily,' and, later on, ' Give my 
kind regards to Miss Arnott,' or, ' How are the 
Arnotts ? Do you see much of them ? Remember 
me when you meet.' Emily had many a good cry in 
secret over this coldness and neglect, but she was too 
proud to show openly what she felt. The duchess, 
however, felt for her, and tried to comfort her. 

' He is young, and a little wild, dear,' she would say. 
' He hates writing letters, and calls it a bore. Ycu 
will not find him changed when he comes back. Pray 

6 The Nobleman on the Turf. 

excuse him for his carelessness, I am sure he does not 
mean it.' 

So Emily hoped against hope, and waited anxiously 
for the day of his return. When she was told that he 
was expected at Christmas, and she received an invi- 
tation to meet him, how her heart fluttered. It was all 
she could do to restrain her nervous anxiety, which 
threatened to make her seriously ill. 

On the morning of the day which he had fixed for 
his arrival, the Duchess of Masborough and Mr. Om- 
maney Lane Whittaker held a consultation in the 
boudoir of the former. 

' I am so glad Masborough is coming home,' began 
the duchess. i It is so long since he was here that I 
confess I am quite anxious to see him again. He will 
be no longer the fair boy, with the slender moustache.' 

' Certainly the sun will have browned him a little, 
and he will be all the more manly for having seen the 
world,' answered Mr. Whittaker; ' yet I do not expect 
to see him much altered, except in a certain gravity 
which he ought to have acquired.' 

* He ought to think of settling. This is the age of 
early marriages ; the Royal Family set the example.' 

' Who could he have except his old love ? ' 

' Miss Arnott ? Emily is a dear, good girl, and in 
every way worthy of him, though he has not taken so 
much notice of her lately as I could have wished,' 
replied the duchess thoughtfully. 

' Carelessness always was his great fault,' observed 
Mr. Whittaker. 

1 Yet his heart is good.' 

' Oh, I believe that always was in the right place. 
If he follows in his father's footsteps he will take a high 
place in the ministry one of these days. I am tired of 
parliamentary life. If he had not a seat in the House 
of Lords I think I should resign in his favour.' 

Castle Gompton. 7 

'Any nominee of yours is sure to be elected, so that 
need not matter.' 

' Positively certain,' returned Mr. Whittaker con- 
'identially. ' No one could stand against our united 

' If he would publish a volume of his travels it would 
attract notice, and do him some good, but he has no 
literary talent I fear.' 

' That matters very little. There are many men in 
London to be got hold of who can and will write any- 
thing if they are paid for it. You have seen my 
pamphlet on Political Economy ? well, I did not write 
a line of it. I merely gave a man the ideas, and got 
the credit of being a profound thinker and facile writer.' 

Mr. Ommaney Lane Whittaker took a pinch of snuff, 
and chuckled as he thought how easily he had gulled 
the public generally, and his constituents in particular. 

' Ours is quite a statesman-like name,' remarked the 

' It has been so for generations,' 

' I wish Masborough were a little more studiously 

' Most young men sow wild oats,' answered Mr. 
Whittaker, ' and I suppose he is no exception to the 

' Let us hope he has finished sowing them,' the 
duchess said with a cheerful smile. 

' It is not the sowing, my dear madam, that matters 
so much. It is the extent of the crop that has to 
be afterwards reaped,' remarked Mr. Whittaker, pro- 

' Ah ! precisely : but we must not indulge gloomy 
anticipations ; let us hope for the best.' 

1 Certainly, let us hope. It can do no harm, and he 
is in good hands with Hines. Capital fellow, Hines ! ' 

' And so clever.' 

8 The Nobleman on the Turf. 

' Overwhelmingly so. Excellent fellow, Hines. Quite 
invaluable. Oh, here comes Captain Arnott ! ' 

A gentleman about thirty entered the room, and 
apologised for his intrusion, saying, ' I really beg your 
Grace's pardon ; I was told I should find my sister 
with you, and I know she wants some commissions 

' Don't mention it, Captain Arnott. Are you going 
to Chester ? ' said the duchess. 

' Yes ; I drive over in half-an-hour. Can I do any- 
thing for you, or for Mr. Whittaker ? ' 

Both responded in the negative. 

' We were talking about Masborough, and saying 
what a capital fellow Hines is as a companion for him,' 
said Mr. Whittaker. 

' Indeed ! ' said Captain Arnott, shortly. 

' You do not seem to think so ! ' the duchess said, 

' Well, frankly, I don't, and never did ; though I 
don't care about talking of a man behind his back.' 

The duchess and Mr. Whittaker looked at one 
another as if it was high treason to entertain a doubt 
respecting the mental ability or moral character of Mr. 
Stoney Hines. 




* I HAVE always regarded him as a man of high attain- 
ments and great promise. So steady ; such principle ; 
so clever !' said Mr. Ommaney Lane Whittaker, after a 

1 And I, also,' chimed in her Grace. 

' Well, he may be,' said Captain Arnott, hesitatingly. 
' What you say induces me to regard him in a new light, 
though I must confess I should not like to have money 
on the event.' 

' What do you know of him ?' said Mr. Whittaker. 

' Nothing positively ; that is to say, of my own 

' Now, I do beg of you, Captain Arnott,' said the 
duchess, ' to tell us anything you may have heard. 
Masborough is entirely in his hands, and if it is judi- 
cious to remove him, why it must be done.' 

' All I know is, that he and my brother Charles were 
up at Oxford together. Mr. Hines is a Brazenose-man, 
so is Charles. Naturally we talked of Mr. Hines, when 
we heard he had gone abroad with Masborough. 
Charles says he is clever, but nothing else. He was a 
great gambler, and would make young fellows play at 
cards and pluck them. As for being steady, Charles 
says it is all nonsense ; for one night, when an attempt 
was made to blow up the statue of Cain and Abel in 
Brazenose quad, he saw Mr. Hines running away, and 
has no moral doubt that he was the culprit, though 
another man was sent away for it. He speculated, too, 

10 The Nobleman on the Turf. 

rather heavily, on all races at the University, and all 
turf races, having an especial fondness for Newmarket 
and horses. Still, he may have altered, and Charles 
may have been deceived. I am glad to be set right 
about Mr. Hines, though I will say that his deep, 
calculating face and cunning grey eyes are against 

' I have remarked the restless expression of his eyes,' 
said the duchess, evidencing that her confidence was 
waning, and showing how easy it is to prejudice ono 
person against another. 

' And now I come to think of it, I never liked his 
face ; there was always something designing about it,' 
observed Mr. Whittaker. 

' He must be got rid of.' 

' I shall take an early opportunity of speaking very 
seriously to Masborough about it.' 

' I hope no harm has been done as yet,' said the 

' It would be an irreparable injury if Masborough 
should have imbibed any of his tastes and habits/ said 
Mr. Whittaker. 

' I fear I have alarmed your Grace and Mr. Whit- 
taker. If so, it was entirely unintentional on my part,' 
said Captain Arnott. 

' Will you talk to my son when he arrives ? You can 
do it as an old friend ; that is, if you see anything 
wrong, and a man will have a better opportunity of 
judging,' said her Grace. 

' Certainly I will. I shall consider it my duty since 
you have asked me,' the captain answered. 

' Dear me ; how strangely things come about ! I did 
not expect this ; candidly, I did not,' remarked Mr. 
Whittaker, taking a prodigious pinch of snuff from a 
handsome gold box, which had at one time belonged to 
George IV 

The Evil Genius. 11 

' You acquit me of any prejudice in this matter ?' the 
captain said. 

1 Of course, my dear Arnott ; we know you are above 
that,' answered Mr. Whittaker, immediately ; ' your 
communication is a favour. I assure you I regard it as 

' For my part,' said the duchess, ' I am personally 
indebted to Mr. Arnott.' 

Then the conversation ended, but it left a strong 
impression upon the minds of all three. Arnott drove 
over to Chester. Her Grace went out in the carriage, 
and Mr. Ommaney began to read the Times which had 
just come down from London. 

It was late in the afternoon when the Duke of Mas- 
borough, accompanied by Mr. Stoney Hines, arrived at 
the castle. The carriage had been waiting for him all 
day at the railway station. He was not above the 
middle height, stout, and rather heavy in appearance, 
with a fat face which might have concealed intelligence 
behind its pudginess, but allowed no scintillation to 
escape. He wore no beard, had a moustache and thin 
whiskers ; his manner was reserved but not thoughtful, 
and his conversation did not betray any waste of time on 
thought or reading. Mr. Hines, on the contrary, was 
tall, thin, dark and quick, clean as to the absence of 
hair on his face, simple in attire as his Grace was loud, 
and something like a Jesuit priest in manner. We 
would try and find another simile, but cannot imagine 
one more forcibly conveying the disagreeable impres- 
sion he produced on the beholder. The duke's manner 
was gentlemanly, easy, and well-bred ; he greeted the 
friends assembled to meet him kindly, kissed his mother, 
and shook hands with Emily in a hearty manner, which 
disarmed her suspicions. 

Christmas passed over, with a constant round of 
festivities. There was plenty of shooting in the well- 

12 The Nobleman on the Turf. 

stocked preserves ; in the absence of frost, the- hounds 
met three times a week, and his Grace created a favour- 
able impression by declaring his intention of accepting 
the mastership, which the present holder of that posi- 
tion was desirous of resigning on the score of ill health, 
though in reality because the expense was greater than 
he could afford. 

It was not until some of the guests had taken their 
departure that Mr. Whittaker ventured to talk to the 
young duke, who had delighted every one with his 
varied stories of travel, his excellent shooting, the way 
in which he flirted with and danced with the ladies, 
the careless rate with which he lost money at cards 
or billiards, and his devil-may-care manner generally — 
when we say everybody we must except his mother. In 
her anxious eyes he was by far too easy and careless ; he 
seemed to live for pleasure only, and to seek for con- 
stant excitement, as if he wished to forget some un- 
pleasant passage of his life, in the everlasting round 
of pleasure. Mr. Hines was his shadow ; he was 
always at his elbow, scarcely ever left him, accom- 
panied him on all his rambles, and exercised a vast 
and undoubted influence over him. To Mr. Whittaker 
and to the duchess Hines was affability itself, to others 
he was offhand and even rude, as if he felt his position 
so secured that he could venture to assume a manner 
which, coming from such a man, was to many insuffer- 
ably offensive ; but he was quick at retort, clever in 
sarcasm, and in a few hastily uttered words could wound 
severely without saying anything which the hearer could 
fix upon to make a quarrel ; so, while the duke was the 
most popular man in the house, Mr. Hines was the one 
most universally disliked. 

Catching the young duke alone one morning, Mr. 
Whittaker took advantage of the opportunity to talk 
seriously to him. 

TJie Evil Genius. 13 

After a preliminary * break ' his late guardian said, 
' And what are your intentions, my dear boy ? ' 

' About what ? ' asked Masborough, staring stupidly 
at the fire. 

1 Things in general — the course you intend to 
pursue ? ' 

' That is soon answered, " replied the duke. ' The 
course I intend to follow is the race-course.' 

'The what?' said Mr. Whittaker, paralysed with 
astonishment and gasping for breath. 

' The turf, racing, and all that sort of thing ; don't 
you understand ? I have sixteen horses in training 
now at Chantilly I bought from Count Lagrange, and 
Hines is looking out, over here, for a trainer and some 
good quarters, as I mean to purchase largely, and must 
have some good entries for the races.' 

' Mr. Hines is doing this ? ' said Mr. Whittaker, re- 
covering himself. 

' Certainly; he acts under my orders.' 

' Then, all I can say is that Mr. Hines is acting most 
disgracefully, and is not fit for the position he has so 
long held ; he has shamefully abused his trust,' said 
the guardian, allowing his indignation to explode. 

' You had better tell him so,' the duke rejoined with 
a half smile. 

' I shall certainly take an early opportunity of doing 
so, and in no measured terms. You have indeed as- 
tonished me. I could never have believed that you 
would have evidenced a liking for such a career. 
Think how many noblemen have been ruined on the 

' I am at home in a stable, and I flatter myself I 
know the points of a horse as well as I do those of a 
woman,' said Masborough, quietly. 

' Points of a horse — points of a — Bless me, what 
language is this ? How unlike my poor dead friend, 

14 The Nobleman on the Turf. 

your father. But you must be joking,' said Mr. Omma- 
ney Lane Whittaker. 

' I ! Oh, dear no ! I assure you I never was more 
serious in my life. I will win a few Darbies and 
Sillingers if I live long enough.' 

' Darbies and Sillingers ! ' said the poor guardian in 
despair, uttering a sort of wail. ' He talks of things 
like those when he ought to be considering the proposed 
measures for the pacification of Ireland, the advisability 
of adopting the ballot, the abolition of tests in the 
universities, our licensing system, and a dozen other 
great topics of the day.' 

' Bother politics ! ' said his Grace, lighting his second 
cigar since breakfast, and helping himself to some 
curacoa from a liquor case; ' I can't stand politics.' 

' Can't stand politics ? then you're not a Masborough ; 
you are degenerate.' 

' You need not be personal, Mr. Whittaker,' inter- 
posed the young man. ' I am sensible of the interest 
you take in my welfare, but believe me I am quite 
capable of looking after my own affairs without help 
even from you. I intend to keep race-horses.' 

' In an assumed name ? ' 

' In my own. Bentinck, Derby, Westmoreland, Stam- 
ford, Newcastle, and many others, have all done the 
same thing. I mean to hunt the county, and live like 
a country gentleman - of the Tatton Sykes kind. I 
should be out of my sphere in the political arena. I 
doubt if I could make a speech except after dinner, and 
then there would not be much in it. Do you find any- 
thing so very startling in the announcement ? ' asked 
the duke. 

' Indeed I do,' replied Mr. Whittaker sadly. ' I see 
that you, whom I regarded with as much pride and 
affection as if you had been my own son, have made an 
evil choice ; really you have. The great name, the 

The Evil Genius. 15 

histor/cal name of Masborough, instead of being men- 
tioned by millions with reverence and esteem, will be 
bandied about by turf swindlers and blacklegs. It will 
become a bye-word to all who have your welfare at 
heart, and a man in your position is the property of his 
country. You cannot do what you like with yourself, 
and — and — by God you shan't ! ' 

The duke frowned, but made no answer. 

' If I can help it you shall not touch this pitch, which 
will defile you. You owe it to my years to respect my 
advice. You owe it to your mother to halt before this 
abyss,' Mr. Whittaker went on, in the same emphatic 

' My dear sir, recollect that you are not speaking to 
a schoolboy, and I have no wish to quarrel with you, 
but ' 

' Well, well, well, I must consult with your mother. 
This conversation has taken me by surprise,' said the 
old gentleman testily. 

1 If any of my friends should wish to have a lecture 
on the advantages to be derived from being a good boy 
I will refer them to you.' 

' It is no laughing matter, my dear young friend, as 
you will find out to your cost some day. But I will 
speak with your mother.' 

With these words Mr. Whittaker quitted the room 

' You're off in a huff,' was the young nobleman's 
comment on his departure. 

Oddly enough, as he went out at one door Mr. Hines 
entered at another. 

' Oh, is it you, Hines ? ' said the duke. ' Whittaker 
has been here, giving me quite a moral sermon.' 

' I heard every word of it,' answered Mr, Hines 

' The deuce you did ! ' 

16 The Nobleman on the Turf. 

1 Yes ; the door was open, and- 

' You listened. I must compliment you on your 
mode of gaining information, but nothing comes amiss 
to you; I never saw such a fellow.' 

' I don't mind what I do in your cause, as you know,' 
answered Mr. Hines. ' You have had proof of that 
before now. What would yon have done at Baden 
if ' 

' For heaven's sake don't recall that incident ! ' in- 
terrupted the duke hastily, as he averted his face ; ' you 
know it makes me ill. I was a fool, and you got me 
out of the mess I was in, after a fashion of your own.' 

' Precisely. You could not have stated the situation 
better,' answered Mr. Hines. ' And now with regard 
to Mr. Whittaker and his sage advice — what do you 
mean to do ? ' 

' Do as I please, to be sure, and pursue a glorious 
career on the turf, as I have all along been determined.' 

' You have a right to please yourself.' 

( Of course I have. My ambition is to fill my side- 
board with race-cups and trophies, won by my horses, 
and I mean to have the best blood in the world, if I pay 
ten times its weight in gold for it.' 

' A laudable ambition,' answered Mr. Hines. ' Excuse 
me now, will you? I have some letters to write.' 

' Shall you be ready in an hour ? I mean to drive 
a tandem over to Chester.' asked the duke. 

' I will be with you.' 

Mr. Hines retired to his own apartment, and having 
closed the door muttered — 

' I have him safe enough, though I rather feared their 
home influence. Such is his ambition. Mine is very 
different. When I have feathered my nest sufficiently, 
through his folly, I intend to stand for some borough, 
and get into Parliament. A man is nothing in this 
country without money. If he has none himself he 

The Evil Genius. 17 

should get it from others. I mean to do so. Once 
tolerably well off I will make a name for myself, and 
this poor fool may settle down with what is left to him, 
and shoot his pheasants, and hunt his foxes, and back 
the favourite, and I will back him, that is, I will ride 
on his back to fame and fortune.' 




Thc Arnotts, who lived at Merrion Hall, in the same 
county, were very old friends of the Masboroughs, and 
whenever the young duke saw Emily Arnott, he felt 
an emotion which he could not disguise. An invitation 
given by Captain Arnott, her brother, to spend a week at 
Merrion, was readily accepted, and he went as soon as 
the festivities consequent upon his return home would 
admit of his going. He was rather glad of the oppor- 
tunity, in fact, as he was constantly worried by the 
advice given him by his mother and Mr. Ommaney 
Lane Whittaker, who considered it their bounden duty 
to urge him to desist from a career which they felt 
would bring him no credit, and might materially damage 
his fortune and prospects in life. He had set his mind 
upon a sporting life, and on the turf he would go, so he 
contented himself with listening wearily to the homilies 
of his friends without changing one iota of his purpose. 
Mr. Hines was not invited to Merrion, and the duke 
seemed pleased to give him the slip, if only for a few 
days, so that ho departed from Castle Compton with a 
delight he had some trouble in concealing. The Arnotts 
received him with open arms, and their welcome was so 
genuine, that he could not for a moment entertain the 
suspicion that they hoped to make capital out of him in 
the way of arranging an alliance between him and the 
daughter, though it was known to all that he had been 
very fond of Emily before he went abroad. 

Emily Arnott. 19 

When away from the companionship of Mr. Hines, 
and freed from that restraint which the tutor unques- 
tionably exercised over him, his spirits expanded, and 
he appeared to greater advantage than at other times. 
He was merry and jovial ; he talked openly, and was 
pronounced an agreeable companion. His stay at the 
Hall was made as pleasant for him as the hospitality of 
a good old country family could make it, and that is 
saying a great deal, for nowhere in the world can so 
much enjoyment be derived as in a country house in 

' I wonder,' Masborough took an opportunity of 
observing to Captain Arnott, ' if your sister thinks of 
mo as she did before I went away?' 

' I have always heard her mention you with respect,' 
replied the captain. 

' She is a dear girl,' the duke went on thoughtfully. 

Wishing to turn the conversation, Captain Arnott 
said, ' So you think of training horses, and running 
them on the turf?' 

' Who told you so ? ' 

c I scarcely know. It may have been yourself. I 
heard it somewhere.' 

' You heard the truth, anyhow,' said Masborough 
with a laugh ; ' that is my intention. I was always 
passionately fond of horses, and a race has a peculiar 
excitement for me, which I can derive from nothing 

' It is impossible for me to offer any opinion, of course,' 
continued the captain, ' but I question whether it is an 
amusement from which a man in your position is likely 
to derive any profit or advantage.' 

' As for profit, my dear fellow,' answered Masborough, 
' I never thought of such a thing. I know racing is 
expensive, but if I can't afford to go in for a luxury of 
that sort, who can ? ' 

C 2 

20 The Nobleman on the Turf. 

Captain Arnott said nothing more, and they went in 
to dress for dinner. In the evening Emily, who was an 
accomplished musician, played and sung. She gave 
peculiar charms to ' Ah ! che la morte ! ' and Mas- 
borough listened in an abstracted manner to the dying 
cadence of her voice. 

( I hope my singing does not make you sad,' Miss 
Arnott said. 

He started as if roused from a deep reverie, and 
answered, ' A little ; I last heard that air of Verdi's at 

' Was the musician's voice so angelic as to impress it 
upon your memory ? ' continued Emily, toying with the 
keys, and not appearing to exhibit any curiosity. 

' She was not an angel, she was a demon,' replied the 
duke, Avhose face clouded over fiercely. 

' Byron tells us there is a land where all save the 
spirit of woman is divine,' said Emily. ' I should so 
like to hear the history of your demoniac songstress.' 

' I trust you may never hear it, for it would only 
distress you. Please ask me no questions. You have 
called up memories I wished to bury for ever. "Will 
you not kindly go on playing ? ' 

1 Pray excuse me, I am quite tired,' Miss Arnott 
rejoined, with slightly less amiability of manner. 

' Thank you Aery much for the pleasure you have 
already afforded me,' said Masborough, as he closed the 

At this moment Mr. Arnott interrupted their languish- 
ing conversation by saying, ' I suppose you do not in- 
tend going abroad again, as your Grace has announced 
your intention of hunting the county and keeping race- 
horses ? ' 

' No. I have had enough of the continent of Europe,' 
said the duke, ' and if I felt inclined to wander again, 
I think I should be tempted to run over to America.' 

Emily Arnott. 21 

' The land that Dickens satirised in Pogram and 
Jefferson Brick, where, I have no doubt, a fund of 
amusement could be derived from that quarter.' 

' At an}' rate I should not be away long. I have 
made up my mind to settle down here.' 

' Marry and settle,' said the old gentleman, a little 

' Perhaps,' said Masborough, venturing to look at 
Emily, who cast down her eyes and pretended to look 
for her pocket handkerchief. 

' Marry ! ' said a voice at the door, ( who is talking 
of marriage ? Pray pardon this unceremonious intru- 
sion, Mrs. Arnott. I trust 1 may consider myself 
welcome. Mr. Arnott, good evening.' 

The new arrival was ,Mr. Hines, who shook hands 
with every one, taking that of the duke last, who did 
not seem well pleased at being disturbed by his un- 
expected appearance. 

' Make yourself at home, Mr. Hines,' said the master 
of the house, ' and do not apologise. You find us quite 
en famille, and I am sure we shall not find any excuse 
to you for being so.' 

' You are too good,' answered Hines. ' My imme- 
diate object in coming was to inform his Grace that the 
duchess is not very well ; bronchitis I am afraid, but 
nothing serious. Oh ! dear no, nothing to be alarmed 
at. She merely expressed a wish to see our young 
friend in the morning. That is all. But, pray may I 
inquire who was talking of marrying ? It is such an 
interesting subject, especially to young ladies, and I 
fear my unexpected appearance on the scene has inters 
rupted some important announcement.' 

' Not at all,' said Mr. Arnott. ' His Grace was 
talking of settling down.' 

' Ah ! yes. Very proper,' answered Mr. Hines, in 
his insinuating manner. ' But I will venture to say on 

22 The Nobleman on the Turf. 

his behalf, that he will not undertake such a responsible 
step for some time to come. Oh ! no, perhaps not 
for years.' 

' I don't think I should ask your opinion, Mr. Hines,' 
said Masborough, turning very pale. 

' Possibly, no. Possibly, yes,' replied Hines with 
the utmost unconcern. ' Put me out of the question 
altogether. I am really nobody. If I speak about 
eventualities in which you may be concerned, I do so 
from a knowledge of your character, gained after long 
study. No, my dear fellow, depend upon it, you will 
not marry for some time to come.' 

As he spoke he looked at Emily, and his dark eyes 
seemed to pierce her heart. She shuddered involuntarily 
as she encountered the man's glance, and he, perceiving 
the shiver run through her, smiled as if in subdued 

He was invited to stay at the hall that night, and 
agreed to do so, as it was growing late. He knew that 
Mr. Arnott was fond of backgammon, and, accommo- 
dating himself to this taste, played several games with 
him, while the duke, Captain Arnott, and Emily, 
formed a little knot by themselves and talked. 

' I am sorry you will have to leave us,' said the 

' It must be very annoying,' replied Emily, ' to have 
one's keeper always after one.' 

' What do you mean, Miss Arnott ? ' asked the duke, 

' Oh ! Nothing. I alluded to your tutor, Mr. Hines. 
I used the wrong word, perhaps.' 

' Indeed you did. Hines is not even my tutor now. 
He was my travelling companion, and very useful I 
found him. Now I employ him as my agent in various 

' Really I did not wish to go into an explanation of 

Emily Arnott. 23 

your connection with Mr. Hines,' said Emily; 'you are 
too good-natured.' 

' Upon my word/ began the duke. 

' I am sorry the subject should be so disagreeable to 
you,' she interrupted. ' Cannot we talk about some- 
thing else which you may find more interesting? I 
quite agree with my brother that it is extremely un- 
fortunate you should be obliged to leave us so soon. I 
trust, though, sincerely that her Grace is not seriously 

' I should not think so, from Hines's account,' answered 
Masborough, biting his lips. 

His attitude to Mr. Hines was not improved during 
the evening by these remarks, for he was positively 
rude to him on more than one occasion, but Hines 
smiled in his usual way and appeared not to notice the 

When the duke returned for the night, he was 
followed into his bedroom by Hines, who lighted a 
cigar and sat down by the fire. 

' Dreadfully slow in these country places,' he said, as 
the young nobleman leant with his back against the 
chimney-piece and looked at him. ' London is the 
place for you. In town you will be appreciated. You 
will take a position at once and a high one.' 

' I am as ready and willing to commence the campaign 
as yoii are,' said the duke. ' What have you been 
doing ? ' 

' Everything that I thought most conducive to your 
interests. You cannot expect to pull off' any very big 
thing this year, although I have bought you a few 
horses entered for some of the great races, in order 
to bring your name prominently before the racing 
public. I have written a letter to the Sporting Tele- 
graph in your name.' 

'About what?' 

24 The Nobleman on the Turf. 

'"Weights in handicaps. It refers to the races at 
Newbridge, and will make you known in Ireland.' 

Mr. Hines drew a sporting paper from his pocket 
and gave it to Masborough, who read an underlined 
paragraph to which his attention was directed. 

' At the Newbridge races on Monday we observed a 
memorial to obtain the signature of owners of horses 
who have run their animals in a handicap steeple- 
chase, value 100 sovs., since January 1, 1870, as to 
whether they would prefer lOst. or 9st. 61b. should be 
the lowest standard for weights in handicaps, and we 
hear that only two voted for the former scale, and over 
fifteen were in favour of the latter. Amongst the 
most strenuous supporters of this rule is the young 
Duke of Masborough, an ardent lover of the turf, who 
is we hear about to assume a prominent place in the 
racing world. We hail this accession to the ranks of the 
breeders and runners of horses with much pleasure, as 
it is a proof that our leading noblemen do not hold 
aloof from the turf, and no one can say that the national 
sport is on the decline, when a nobleman possessing 
100,000Z. a-year, so it is said, in addition to a great 
historical name, comes forward as its champion and 

' You are a long-headed fellow, Hines,' said the 
duke, smiling. 

' I don't know about that, but I think you are safe in 
my hands.' 

' I might go all over London and not find a better 
agent,' the duke exclaimed, getting gradually into 
a better humour. 

1 You have a horse entered for the Liverpool.' 

' Have I ? What is the name ? ' 

' Yille d'Orsay, one of the French division. Look 
in the first column of the paper and read what they say 
of it,' 

Emily Arnott. 25 

The duke read the following somewhat to his as- 
tonishment : — 

' Ville d'Orsay is one of the nicest mares I ever 
saw, and a wonderfully clever steeplechaser. Last 
year she won the Grand National Hurdle Race at 
Croydon in a canter, beating a number of good horses, 
and she almost lost Marsyas in a steeplechase at 
Shrewsbury. At Warwick last autumn she won the 
Warwick steeple-chase after meeting with a mishap 
that would have lost the race to nine animals out of ten, 
and she fairly walked in for the Grand Metropolitan at 
Croydon. She was backed for money to-day, the price 
high, and the ardour of her friends does not appear to 
be cooling down. This mare has recently become the 
property of the Duke of Masborough, which is sufficient 
to induce the public to back it to any amount.' 

' They seem to mention my name often enough,' 
said the duke : ' why is that ? ' 

< Shall I tell you ?' asked Mr. Hines. 

' I wish you would. I am not good at riddles.' 

' It is your paper.' 


' Yes. I have bought it, and the editor shall take 
his cue from me.' 

' By Jove, you are a wonderful fellow, Hines ! ' the 
duke said, regarding him with undisguised admiration. 

i Shall I tell you something else ? ' 

' As you like.' 

' I have taken the liberty of having your house 
at Merton, in Lincolnshire, fitted up, and have sent out 
invitations in your name to the most influential 
members of the aristocracy.' 

' For what purpose ? ' 

' To witness the sport at the Grand National and 
Merton Hunt Steeplechases.' 

' I did not know there was such a race.' 

26 The Nobleman on the Turf. 

1 Nor I, until a few weeks ago, when I originated the 
fixture. The entries are excellent and numerous. It 
will be a splendid affair. I want you to start for 
Merton to-morrow to lend your presence to everything.' 

' I have not been there since I was a boy. Does the 
paper say anything about it ? ' 

' Our paper ? Yes, of course.' 

Mr. Hines pointed out another paragraph, which 
said — 

' The Grand National and Merton Hunt, near Lincoln, 
on Tuesday and Wednesday, will be a very brilliant 
affair ; and during the reunion the Duke of Masborough, 
on dit, will entertain the Prince of Wales and other dis- 
tinguished visitors. The Grand National Hunt Steeple- 
chase, on Tuesday, is a contest manifestly framed to 
offer encouragement to high-class hunters, and has a 
large entry. Among the nominations are Downshire, 
who was third in the Two Thousand, and who was 
formerly in the Fyfield stable, and supposed at one time 
to possess Derby form. The Duke of Masborough has 
a couple in Monastery and the Prince (not the Cesare- 
wich hero), and the issue may be confined to the three 
specified. Downshire is also reported to be trained by 
the duke's own hunting groom, and, if the horse has 
been converted into a perfect jumper, he is certain to 
win. At all events, we shall rely on Downshire and 
one of his Grace's (Monastery or Prince). The Merton 
Handicap Power or Dormouse will win, and Greenback 
or Ptarmigan the Handicap Plate of 100Z. The Lin- 
colnshire Hunters' Plate Merrythought should secure. 
Wednesday will have for its main attraction the Lincoln 
Grand National Steeplechase, which, despite its 500Z. 
added, has not a large entry. Sanctus will, perhaps, 
not be risked over this big country, but be reserved for 
the easier track of Croydon, or otherwise he would have 
the duke's own good word.' 

Emily Arnott. 27 

' You don't let the grass grow under jour feet,' ob- 
served the duke. ' I am like Byron, who went to bed 
obscure and woke to find himself famous.' 

' You do not object at all ? ' asked Mr. Hines. 

' Not in the least. I rather like it. If one is to 
do this sort of thing, the sooner a start is made the 

' I want you to make a book on all the races. If you 
have not forgotten my instructions at Baden, you will 
not find it difficult.' 

' I have the theory perfectly. What are the Derby 
horses this year. That is the race to begin with, I 
suppose ? ' said Masborough. 

' Consult the leader in the paper,' answered Hines. 

The duke did so, and was informed. 

1 It is a notable fact that the winter has passed without 
disturbing the positions of the favourites for the Derby ; 
and, indeed, Dinmont and Aristides are firmer than 
ever. Flaming reports are circulated as to the great 
improvement made by the Russley crack ; and it is the 
steadfastly maintained opinion of his former trainer that 
the horse will win the double event — Two Thousand and 
Derby. Aristides has just gone through a course of 
physic, preparatory to putting him into long work for 
the Epsom struggle. It is believed to be his owner's 
determination to decline the Newmarket Biennial, 
and run the son of Storm King and Cloud for no 
engagement until the Derby. The Middle Park Plate 
hero, like his Russley rival, has made much improve- 
ment, and the common impression is that the Berkshire 
pair will finish first and second on the Surrey Downs. 
Sampson, if he goes on the right way, will split them, 
and it has always been my opinion that, barring Riddler, 
the scion of Ludovicus was, when Avell, the best two- 
year-old in training. Apropos of Riddler, intelligence 
from America states that Mr. Strut, a wealthy trans- 

28 The Nohleman on the Turf. 

atlantic turfite, has sent over a commissioner to offer 
3000Z. for this noted animal; but this is not likely 
to be accepted if the son of Balderson retains his form, 
and has made the ordinary progress. The two great 
cracks almost monopolise the Derby betting, and as the 
spring advances the prospects of an outsider's triumph 
appear to diminish.' 

' I could not get your name in this,' remarked Hines, 
' as you have no nomination in this year's Derby, 
although you will come in handsomely the year after 
next, and even next year you will have a chance, as 
I have bought a couple of promising two-year-old's for 
you. I should make a book on the Lincolnshire Han- 
dicap and the Chester Cup. They are most thought of 
at present. ' 

' I don't know that I shall always bother about 
making a book,' said the duke, with a yawn of antici- 
pated weariness. ' I shall pick out a horse and back 
him, trusting to luck. That is easiest.' 

' Very well ; do that. See what we say about Lin- 

Again Masborough took up the paper and read — 

' For the Lincolnshire Handicap 10 to 1 was offered 
on the field without a response, while Falkenstein, on 
the contrary, was in great request, opening at 100 to 8 
and leaving off at a point less taken freely. Bolingbroke 
had a coming tendency, 500 to 30 having been booked 
in his favour, while Sisyphus also had friends who were 
unable to procure better terms. Sempronius was in 
better demand than hitherto, but, as bookmakers refused 
to make a fraction of advance upon 9 to 1, no business 
resulted. The Physician was nominally second fa- 
vourite, but offers of 11 to 1 were disregarded, and, 
although at first twelve ponies was accepted about the 
Skeleton, he left off at 100 to 8 offered. Sunrise's po- 
sition it was difficult to guess at for a length of time, 

Emily Arnott. 29 

but the acceptance of twenty ponies, and several lesser 
bets at the same rate of odds, afforded some clue 
to the tone of the market, especially as Surrey 
could not command a bid at the same price. A few 
trifling investments on Hyacinth at 20 to 1 were nego- 
tiated after vain attempts to get on at longer odds. The 
hostility to Gem was exchanged this afternoon for a 
general disposition to back him, 25 to 1 being taken 
whenever procurable, while, at the same time, 200 to 5 
and 1000 to 30 were booked in well-informed quarters 
about his stable companion, Batrakos. Hunter was 
frequently inquired after, and anything over 25 to 1 
would have brought him a fair amount of support. We 
heard Rogue mentioned by a certain influential com- 
missioner, but without eliciting an offer. Elevation 
was backed to win a couple of thousand pounds at 40 to 
1, but layers were not disposed to continue their opera- 
tions at that price. The Chester Cup was very flat, 
nothing worthy of comment having been done thereon. 
The best offer on the field for the Guineas was 900 
to 200, while Dinmont was backed for 100Z. at 5 to 1, 
and a level hundred betted that he beats Jay. Only two 
transactions were recorded on the Derby.' 

' I'll plunge on Falkenstein and trust to chance. If 
I lose it does not matter ; one must buy one's expe- 
rience,' said the duke. 

' At all events, you see the time has come to be active. 
You could not draw back now if you wanted,' replied 

' I have no inclination to do so.' 

'Will you start for Merton Hall after seeing your 
mother to-morrow, and, when the races are over, go to 
Epsom and see the training quarters I have established 
there for you ? ' 

' Yes ; I leave it all to you. I am entirely in your 
hands ; do the work as you have begun, let me have the 

30 The Nobleman on the Turf. 

pleasure and the fun of the thing. I don't care so long 
as I'm not bothered,' replied the duke. 

' I feel proud of your confidence, and now to bed. 
Good night.' 

< Good night.' 

They shook hands and Mr. Hines went away, feeling 
that his position was now thoroughly secure. 




Nicholas Coper was a middle-aged man, born at New- 
market, who thoroughly understood the training and 
management of horses ; he had been engaged by Mr. 
Hines as the Duke of Masborough's trainer, and all the 
horses which he had purchased were taken to extensive 
premises at Epsom, which had been hired for the 
purpose of a large training establishment. 

The antecedents of Mr. Coper were not such as to 
bear inspection ; he liked to have people in his power. 
It facilitated any business he might have with them. 
If he could put the screw on, they were docile and 
obedient when they might otherwise have asserted their 

A short time after the conversation recorded in the 
last chapter, Mr. Hines and the trainer were seated in a 
neatly furnished parlour in the latter's house, which ad- 
joined the stables ; on a table stood sundry bottles, 
glasses, and a box of cigars. 

' I think, Coper, you thoroughly understand me ? ' 
said Mr. Hines. 

' Yes, sir,' answered Coper, ' I think I do.' 

' I must have implicit obedience. If I say to you a 
horse is not to win, it must lose. The horses under 
your care belong to the Duke of Masborough, but you 
belong to me.' 

The trainer winced. 

' It matters very little,' pursued Mr. Hines, ' how I 
discovered three years ago you committed a robbery at 

32 The Nobleman on the Turf, 

Newmarket, and disposed of the notes in London. The 
fact remains the same. You did it. You are no less a 
thief, Coper, because you have not been publicly exposed 
and punished.' 

1 1 was drove to it,' said Coper, sullenly. 

' Possibly ; criminals generally have some excuse to 
urge in extenuation of their offence. You are no excep- 
tion to the general rule, and if it is a salve to your 
conscience to think that you were compelled to break 
the laws of your native land, by all means continue to 
do so.' 

' It's no use reminding me of what's past and gone,' 
said Coper, with the same dogged air, as he helped him- 
self to some more brandy and water. 

1 Yes, it is of use,' persisted Mr. Hines, who rather 
enjoyed the way in which the man writhed before him. 
' It's not past and gone as you observe. It is ever 
present to me and to you. If you do not obey me as if 
you were my slave, I shall make the fact of your having 
been a thief unpleasantly patent to you. I do not say 
this to hurt your feelings, but to make you thoroughly 
understand your position.' 

' The duke's horses, sir, shall be run just as you 
order ; will that do ? ' 

' That is more reasonable ; and mind, no resistance, 
no kicking over the traces. I am going in to make 
money, and by watching my game you may do the 

' Thank you kindly, sir.' 

' I suppose you have seen a few strange things in 
your time, Coper?' pursued Hines, picking a cigar out 
of the box. 

' Well, I may say a few, sir,' answered Coper with 
a quiet chuckle. 

' Perhaps you are not indisposed to favour me with a 
little of your experience?' 

Nicholas Coper, Trainer. 33 

' Not at all, sir. I've seen some strange rigs on the 
turf, and that's a fact. If you want villany that's 
naked, as we may say, you must go on a racecourse for 
it. I think the turf's done a great deal to elevate and 
reduce to a science, as it were sir, the crime of the 
country. I've seen drunkenness, embezzling, late 
hours, bad company, loss of situation, broken homes, 
broken hearts, property sold, gambling, fighting and 
murder, ay, even murder, all come of what people call 
attendance at race meetings, and it's my opinion that 
Government would have to shut up some of the prisons 
if there was no horse-racing. It may seem odd to hear 
such an opinion coming from me, for I'm not a senti- 
mental or a moral sort of a cove at all, but if I can't 
bring a sound judgment to bear upon it, having been in 
it all my life, who can ? ' 

1 1 can't agree with you,' answered Mr. Hines. ' The 
turf is an arena worthy of the attention of noblemen 
and gentlemen. It is a national pastime, and a little 
judicious wagering can do no one any harm.' 

' That's it, sir. You can do it, oh ! you're a deep 
'un,' cried Mr. Coper, rubbing his hands and laughing 
as if at a great joke. 

' Did not you train once for Mr. Deadsell ? ' 

' Yes, and I can tell you how we got hold of some 
money over an event which did not look promising. 
The governor had a horse entered for a small race, 
called Grasshopper, and he was so good that no one 
would lay against him. I thought we had better 
scratch the horse as we could not get on at anything 
like a decent price — we were forestalled everywhere, but 
the governor did not like to put the pen through his 
name and put on his considering cap instead. The end 
of it was that he went to Mr. Bates, who is a sharp 
man and thinks he knows a thing or two. He says to 
Bates, that he was hard up and wanted a couple of 

34 The Nobleman on the Turf. 

thousand. Bates asks him for the security, not liking 
personal security, and Deadsell offers him the horse. 

' " Grasshopper is a good animal and can win the Cup 
if he likes," he says, " and I'll mortgage him to you." 

' " Sell him outright," says Bates. 

' " No ; I won't do that. I'll mortgage him to you, 
and if the money is not repaid he shall be your property 
within a given time." 

1 " Say three months," suggests Bates. 

' " No. Put it like this. If I do not give you the 
money anytime on the morning of the race or before it, 
the horse is yours. If I do, though the bell may be 
ringing to clear the course at the time, the horse is mine." 

' " All right," says Bates, and Deadsell goes away 
with a cheque in his pocket. 

' Deadsell did not want the money, you know, sir, 
though he kidded Bates he did, and Bates thinking he'd 
never be able to redeem the animal, and that his hopes 
was to win money by backing the horse, and that he 
wanted the coin to put on, made up his mind to lay 
against the horse everywhere, and pull him. Accord- 
ingly he got his own jockey and gave him instructions 
how to ride, while he put out commissions everywhere 
to bet against Grasshopper, and wherever there was 
any money to be had, Deadsell took him. By this 
means we got on a very tidy sum. We knew what 
Bates' game was, but he did not know ours, no, not so 
much as a ha'p'oth even. When the day of the race 
came the two met on the course. 

'"How do?" says Bates. "Want to back your 

1 " Don't mind for a thou., take you to a thou.," replies 

' « Done, with you. Who's the next ? " 

' " Stop a minute, I've some money for you," Deadsell 

Nicholas Coper, Trainer. 35 

' « What for ? " 

' " The horse. I want him back again- Here are 
twenty, hundred pound notes ; take them, and here's 
our agreement." 

( Bates turned white, and said — 

' "After the race will do, don't be in a hurry." 

' '• Now, I say; I want my horse," Deadsell continued. 

' When Bates saw the game was up, he grew frantic ; 
he couldn't help giving the horse up, you know, and 
we at once took possession of him. I stood over him, 
till the jock mounted, and kept a loaded pistol in 
my hand. Well, Bates wired to all parts of the 
country to try and hedge, but it was no go. We ran 
the horse square and won easy. That caper nearly 
bust Mr. Bates up, it did, and he's never been the same 
since. If you want to rile him, ask him if he'll advance 
anything on equine security ; he'll go mad, horseflesh 
ain't good enough for him, oh, no ; not by a long way.' 

Mr. Hines laughed, and in listening; to the trainer's 
experience the afternoon passed ; he then returned to 
town, going first to his office in Jermyn Street. He 
called himself a financial agent, which is a term to cover 
any swindling transaction a man chooses to embark in, 
just as every man of straw, who turns builder and fails, 
calls himself in his petition to the Court of Bankruptcy, 
C.E., as if he were a civil engineer, because he had 
erected half a dozen brick monstrosities in the suburbs, 
with other peoples' money, which he is pleased, in the 
extravagance of his imagination, to designate villas. 

Financial Agent. 

looked well on a brass plate, and he rather flattered 

D 2 

36 The Nobleman on the Turf. 

himself upon the ingenuity of the idea. Financial 
agent was deliciously vague ; he might be a money 
lender, or the promoter of a company for the irrigation 
of the Great Sahara, or the levelling of the Carpathian 

As he passed through the outer office he saw two 
people waiting for him, but taking no notice of them, 
he walked quickly into his own room, opened some 
letters which lay upon his desk, and then struck a call 
bell sharply. 

His clerk entered. 

' Who is waiting ? ' he asked. 

' Mr. Overset, of the Sporting Telegraph, sir, and 
Mr. Pimplepeck,' replied the clerk. 

' Show Mr. Overset in.' 

A portly gentleman, who had for some years been 
connected with the press, and who was haughty enough 
to his inferiors, entered the room hat in hand, and 
bowing politely as a tribute of respect to so important a 
personage as the agent of the rich Duke of Masborough. 

' Well, Overset, what is it ? ' cried Mr. Hine ; < I'm 
busy, and you must not keep me to-night.' 

' I have brought a proof of the account of the meeting 
at Merton, sir, thinking you would like to see it before 
we go to press. If you will glance your eye over it, 
sir, I will wait, as we go on the machine at ten to- 
night,' answered the editor. 

Hines took the slip and read it over carefully. 

It was headed, ' Merton Hall Steeple-chase, by our 
Special Reporter,' and began, ' We are indeed fortunate 
in being able to chronicle such sport and such an 
attendance as has seldom distinguished a country 
meeting of late years. No one can fail to see that in 
the Duke of Masborough a nobleman has risen up 
amongst us who is determined to regenerate the turf, 
and place it on a high level, which will silence the voice 
of all carping cavillers.' 

Nicholas Coper, Trainer. 37 

' Don't like that,' said Hines, pointing with his pen 
to the passage. 

' What, sir? Carping cavillers? Fine line, sir.' 

' Alter it.' 

' Say — of all those who predict its fall in public 
esteem ? ' 

< That will do.' 

' Public esteem — right, sir,' said the editor, making 
the necessary correction. The article went on. ' With 
such a name, with such a fortune, and with such truly 
national tastes, the Duke of Masborough cannot help 
being in an incredibly short space of time the most 
popular man in the country, nor will he by encouraging 
the breeding of horses be a slight benefactor to the 
land. A brilliant gathering of the aristocracy collected 
at Merton on Tuesday, and we do not recollect having 
seen so much beauty and so many well-known stars in 
the world of fashion for a long space of time. The 
urbanity of his Grace was observed by every one, and 
the irresistible charms of his manner admitted by both 
ladies and gentlemen. 

'A large attendance of professionals and the outside 
public testified still further to the popularity of the 
Merton Hall Meeting, and the attraction that steeple- 
chasing has for pleasure-seekers. The weather being 
delightfully fine, the sport was enjoyed under the most 
satisfactory circumstances, and every one appeared de- 
lighted at the successful manner in which the meeting 
had been carried out. The card contained six races, 
and at a quarter-past one proceedings commenced with 
a Selling Handicap Hurdle Race, Pillory and Oberon 
being the two absentees from the seven animals entered. 
Miss Fanny was installed favourite from the commence- 
ment of the betting, and she left off in strong demand 
at 5 to 4. Chatterbox, notwithstanding her easy defeat 
recently by Stone, found plenty of friends willing to 

38 The Nobleman on the Turf. 

invest on her chance at 2 to 1. Neither Earl nor West- 
haven was fancied, and the last-named after landing 
over the hurdle at the stand broke down so badly that 
his jockey at once dismounted. The Earl and Chatter- 
box raced away side by side in advance of the others 
till within half-a-mile of home, where the last-mentioned 
was beaten, her display harmonising only with the 
feelings of those who had laid against her. The 
favourite then took the lead and appeared to be winning 
in a canter, but Astrologer came on hand over hand, 
and taking the lead at the distance, won in a common 
canter by four lengths. He was entered to be sold for 
50 sovs., but there was no bid for him. 

' Astrologer being the property of the Duke of Mas- 
borough, his victory was very popular with the crowd, 
and his triumph is considered a good omen for the new 

' The Open Handicap Steeple-chase came next, and 
being the most important event of the meeting it was 
regarded with considerable interest. Although there 
were twenty animals coloured on the card, but five put 
in an appearance, his Grace, who had three entered, 
being represented by Wi?hing Cap. Oat-straw was 
the top-weight of the handicap, but his absence created 
no surprise, notwithstanding the reports that had been 
circulated to the effect that ho would be sent to the 
post. Elk arrived on Monday to fulfil his engagement, 
but his owner disposed of him on the following day to 
Lord Charles Ibbetson ; the price did not transpire. 
Although Wishing Cap was penalised 101b., raising his 
weight to 12st. 61b., his admirers were confident in his 
ability to carry the crushing impost successfully, and he 
accordingly started a hot favourite at 5 to 4. Brewer, 
however, had a strong body of friends who backed him 
very freely, and after all the money had been absorbed 
at 4 to 1, a point less was accepted about his chance. 

Nicholas Coper, Trainer. 39 

Old Acres was in great demand also, being backed for 
a good stake down to 4 to 1 . Flyer was not at all 
fancied, but 100 to 8 was several times accepted about 
Tomabawk. For the first mile and a half of the journey 
the pace was wretchedly bad. Brewer, who had been 
making the running, increased the speed considerably, 
and the last time round it was noticed that its rider 
had to bustle the favourite along to make him go the 
pace. Half a mile from home he closed up, and for a 
hundred yards it appeared as if he could overhaul the 
leader, but, succumbing under the heavy weight, he 
was unable to maintain his place. The Brewer, full of 
running, increased his lead after clearing the last fence, 
and won in a canter by half a dozen lengths from Flyer. 
The contest was remarkable for the few changes that 
occurred in the respective positions of the competitors, 
who ran from end to end almost as they finished. The 
winner used to be trained at Newmarket, and was at 
one time looked upon as likely to be a " good thing." He 
was greatly fancied to-day by many good judges on the 
form he displayed at Croydon last November, when he 
gave 161b. to Chamberlain and beat him easily for the 
Hunters' Stakes. The Merton Steeple-chase brought 
out four runners from the half-dozen entered, and 
although Temperance was meeting the Gardiner on 
111b. worse terms, her victory over him lately was 
considered to have been gained so easily that her ad- 
mirers laid odds of 11 to 10 on her. The Gardiner was 
backed freely at 5 to 2, and as " weight will tell," he 
was enabled to turn the tables on his conqueror of the 
preceding day. The Hurdle Race Handicap resulted 
in the easy victory of Spring over his stable companion, 
Regulus, both of whom were very heavily backed. 
Money, however, started favourite at 2 to 3, but she 
could perform no better than last year ; indeed, she 
could only get third. Simpleton at one time was freely 

40 The Nobleman on the Turf. 

backed, particularly at the "lists," at 5 to 1, but he was 
not fancied at the finish ; indeed, 100 to 8 " bar three " 
was freely offered. For the two-miles Steeple-chase 
Plate half-a-dozen animals contended, and Alice, Harts- 
hill, and Blessington were in such request that it was 
difficult to say which was favourite. At the close, 
however, Alice just had the call at 2 to 1, and she 
justified this confidence by winning in a canter ; indeed, 
any odds were offered on her when more than half-a- 
mile from home. Hartshill, however, would have been 
a thorn in her side had she not fallen, but although Mr. 
Stoney Hines, her owner, who rode her in the most 
plucky manner, eliciting universal applause, remounted 
immediately, he could never make up the lost ground. 
The Maiden Steeple-chase Plate brought out a capital 
field, there being no fewer than ten runners from the 
seventeen animals entered. Egyptian was made a very 
hot favourite at 7 to 4, but Pyramus, whom many 
shrewd judges supported at 4 to 1, won in a canter by 
half-a-dozen lengths, the race, however, being well con- 
tested until within a quarter of a mile of the finish. 
There were a few bets laid on the Grand National 
during the afternoon, and the Lincoln Handicap was 
mentioned. Several members of the aristocracy are 
staying at the Hall, and many others were regaled at 
luncheon by his Grace, who fully sustained the character 
of the Dukes of Masborough for hospitality. Altogether 
we have had to chronicle a most enjoyable and suc- 
cessful day's sport.' 

' Rather long, but it will do,' said Mr. Hines, handing 
the proof back to the editor. 

' Any further instructions, sir ? ' inquired Mr. 

' Not now ; let me see you on Saturday.' 

The editor bowed again and took his departure. 
Again the bell sounded, and Mr. Pimplepeck was 

Nicholas Coper, Trainer. 41 

ordered to come in, which he did in a somewhat nervous 
manner. He was a youth of anything but ingenuous 
appearance, for there was a sly look about his restless 
eyes. He had an unpleasant way of paying constant 
attention to a mole on his neck, which he was perpetu- 
ally picking and irritating till it got into a state of 
inflammation terrible to contemplate. He was tall and 
thin, neatly dressed, and chiefly remarkable for a shiny 
hat, and boots very much down at heel. 

' You are the gentleman who advertised for a situ- 
ation, and to whom I wrote, I presume?' said Mr. Hines. 

' Yes, as secretary to a nobleman or gentleman,' 
answered Mr. Pimplepeck, quoting from his adver- 

' What are your qualifications ? ' 

' I am a B.A., London.' 

' Have you done anything disgraceful ? ' asked Mr. 

' Sir ! ' cried Mr. Pimplepeck, working away at his 
mole with more energy than ever. 

' Have you done anything disgraceful ? ' repeated 
Mr. Hines. 

' Do you wish to insult me, sir ? ' 

' I will put it another way. Should you have any 
objection to do anything disgraceful if you were paid 
for it. Let us understand one another,' said Mr. Hines, 
employing his favourite phrase. 

' Not if I was paid for it,' replied Mr. Pimplepeck, 
leaving his mole alone for a moment in his astonish- 
ment at this peculiar mode of address. 

' That is what I wanted to know. If I engage you 
for a nobleman, who is a friend of mine and wants a 
secretary, you will have to play the spy upon him ; to 
be my paid spy, in fact. I must have copies of all his 
private correspondence, and you must tell me every- 
thing that comes under your notice which you may 

42 The Nobleman on the Turf. 

think will interest me. You will have to worm your- 
self into his confidence in order to betray him, and do 
dirty work generally.' 

1 For which ' 

' You will be paid three hundred a year, and can 
have the first quarter in advance. Remember one 
thing, though ; if I catch you at any double dealing, 
and find that you are not my slave in fact and in deed, 
you will be instantly dismissed. I am a dangerous man 
to trifle with, Mr. Pimplepeck.' 

Mr. Pimplepeck thought so too, and worked away at 
his mole again. 

< Well !' ejaculated Mr. Hines. 

' I accept the situation, sir,' said Mr. Pimplepeck. 

' On my terms ? ' 

' On your terms.' 

' Very well, call on me the day after to-morrow, at 
nine. I like early men, Mr. Pimplepeck. ' 

' So do I, sir. Expect to see me. Good evening.' 

And Mr. Pimplepeck, who was a man of business, 
took his leave. 

' Now I think everything is complete, and my lord 
duke may start along the road to ruin as soon as is 
agreeable to him,' soliloquised Mr. Hines. 

He was indeed a clever fellow, and knew how to 
spread his net for an unsuspecting and foolish victim as 
well as any scoundrel who has ever flourished for a 
time on his ill-gotten gains. 



' kempson's warning.' 

Mr. Pimplepeck occupied chambers in New Inn, and 
thither he repaired after his interview with Mr. Hines. 
His laundress had prepared tea for him, and he lighted a 
pipe and sat down in his arm-chair to reflect upon his 
good fortune. 

' It matters very little to me what I do so long as I get 
the money,' he muttered. 'What use has my education 
been to me ? I can write and manage to subsist by my pen, 
but what a subsistence it has been after all ! Far better 
be a backwoodsman in the States, or an iron-puddler in 
Staffordshire. I can't afford to be scrupulous, and if 
Mr. Hines pays me, I will serve him as long as it suits 


There was a knock at the door. He rose and ad- 
mitted Mr. Overset, who was a friend of his, and had 
looked in to know how he had succeeded with Mr. 
Hines. On hearing the result of his interview he 
congratulated him. 

' I was about to offer you a berth as my sub-editor,' 
said Mr. Overset, ' but it is no use now.' 

' These things always come when one doesn't want 
them,' remarked Mr. Pimplepeck a little bitterly, as he 
attacked his mole. 

1 I never was so worried with a staff in my life,' con- 
tinued Mr. Overset. ' My sub. has got D. T., and fancies 
himself a steam-engine. He swings his arms about till 
he gets up the steam, and then he rushes at any one or 

44 The Nobleman on the Turf. 

anything that happens to be in his way. He insulted 
our special sporting commissioner to-day, by calling 
him an inflated tout and charging him full butt, hitting 
him in the stomach and quite knocking him out of time, as 
the special is rather stout, and cannot stand a fly on his 
waistcoat. We got him off home at last, but he'll break 
out, and I should not be surprised if he came down in 
the middle of the night and steam-engined into the 
composing room and upset all the formes. Our adver- 
tising agent's not much better. The last I had settled 
us, and this is a new man I put on last week.' 

' I saw him at your office last week, I think ; a tall 
man, with an extensive tawny beard, and a rather 
pompous manner. Pink and white in the face like a 
Madame Tussaud's waxwork.' 

' That's the fellow. Read this letter I have just re- 
ceived from him; pleasant, isn't it, when advertisements 
are the backbone of the paper ? ' 

' It's the duke's paper though, isn't it, and he doesn't 
care whether it pays or not ? ' said Mr. Pimplepeck. 

' Mum as to that,' answered Mr. Overset cautiously. 
' At all events, one is expected to do one's best for one's 

' I suppose Mr. Hines has engaged me for the duke ? ' 

' Most likely. You will know the day after to-morrow, 
and if so, we shall both be in the same swim.' 

Mr. Pimplepeck took the letter offered him and 
read : — 


' It is now some days since you did me the 
honour to appoint me one of your agents for procuring 
advertisements. I have commenced my canvass ; it is 
an honourable occupation. I like it much. Thursday 
saw the conclusion of our agreement. I come of a 
diligent family, but I like to start on a Monday ; this 

Kemj>son's Warning. 45 

the first day of the week looks well ; during the in- 
tervening time I matured my plans. I was not idle, 
far from it. I looked over the papers and made a list 
of names of those I thought likely to go into the 
" S.T."' My adventures have been startling. I have 
not pulled off anything yet, but I have several big 
orders in hand. One for a very large amount will 
astonish you, but I am not at liberty to speak fully 
at present. On Monday I got up early and left my 
home — my address is 8, Carthusian Buildings, Charter- 
house Square, E.C. I like being central — under my 
arm was a bundle of Sporting Telegraphs- My first 
point was a great mourning emporium in Regent Street. 
With a bounding heart I crossed the Viaduct — splendid 
work of art the Viaduct, but rather suggestive in its 
surroundings of Strasburg after the bombardment. 
When I reached the emporium, I entered fearlessly; 
my attire and general appearance induced the young 
gentleman behind the counter to regard me as a 
customer. I flatter myself my get-up is faultless, 
sealskin vest, this style, 17s. 6<i., Sydenham trousers, 
great coat trimmed with Astrachan fur, do^-skin 
gloves, small cane, Gribus hat. Good thing, a Gribus 
hat, will stand the rain. In reply to a question as to 
what I might please to want this morning, I intimated 
a wish to see the proprietor. The great man was sitting 
at a desk in a corner. I am afraid his eggs and bacon 
had not agreed with him that morning, he looked 
bilious, and he was cross; he demanded my business as 
I approached him. In an insinuating tone I told him 
that I came on a little matter of advertising. " Call 
again in a month," he replied, " we are not spending 
money now. What's your paper?" " The Sporting Tele- 
graph,"' said I. "Hum!" said he, as if he had never 
heard of it. Benighted being ! " It's no use now, 
look in again," he continued. Determined not to be 

46 The Nobleman on the Turf. 

abashed, I exclaimed, " Allow me, sir, to parade before 
you the advantages which this periodical beyond all 
others offers. The circulation is over half a million, 
and the King of Prussia has ordered fifty quires 
for distribution among the troops before Paris. 
We penetrate the palace, and we do not disdain the 
cottage. The toil of the labourer is soothed by the 
perusal of our pages, and the haughty aristocrat melts 
into a smile," when I stopped suddenly, for the great 
man had vanished through a side door, and I had only 
an audience of tittering assistants. However, his ex- 
planation was perfectly satisfactory, he was not spend- 
ing money, so I thought it was best to wend my way, 
and I wended. The next on my list Avas a wine 
merchant. I like wine merchants. One gave me a 
tasting order for the docks years ago. The fumes of 
the wine got into my legs. I went home in a cab ; but 
this is a digression. The establishment was called the 
" Losaga," I do not know why. Perhaps it is Spanish 
for something nice. There were casks all round the 
place. There was a bar in the centre, and barmaids. 
Pretty girls as a rule, barmaids ; I like them much. 
It was my intention only to stay a few minutes. I had 
a long list of names to collect. I considered myself in 
treaty with the proprietor of the mourning emporium, as 
he had asked me to call again. It is a good thing to be 
in treaty with a large house. I could not spare much 
time, I belong to a diligent family, and I am full of 
work. Sherry is tempting, especially when dry. I 
was dry, and would try some. Just a glass. It is not 
my custom to imbibe before ten in the morning, but it 
was close upon that hour. I imbibed. The sherry was 
good ; I imbibed again, feeling that my courage re- 
quired stimulating. I was new to the business. I am 
deficient in impudence ; it is my only failing. I 
inquired for the proprietor, and hoped that he was 

Kempsoris Warning. 47 

spending money, or if he was not, I was. He was out, 
but the manager was in ; lie was pointed out to me, 
a tall, thin man, sitting on a cask. With a bow I 
informed him that I represented a newspaper of vast 
influence. He was happy to be informed of the fact. 
Would he go in ? He thought I meant, would he take a 
drink, and he ordered an old port. I did not like 
to hang back, so I also ordered an old port. Very nice 
place, the " Losaga," they sell good stuff. He drank, 
he looked at my paper, our paper, and he laughed. I 
thought this a good sign. " What is your sale price?" 
said he. I informed him. " Very good medium, I 
should think," said he. "Excellent!" I answered, 
" finest in the world ; take half a page ? " "Well, I don't 
mind if I do," he said, and he handed his glass to 
the nearest barmaiden. He mistook my meaning ; no 
matter, I paid. Very nice place, the " Losaga." Port 
especially commendable, though rather heavy at ten in 
the morning. Bitter is more my form. The manager 
at length said he could do nothing without the pro- 
prietor, would I wait ; he would be in about one. I 
waited. We had more drinks. I paid for them. At 
twelve o'clock I came to the conclusion that the manager 
was a most incarnate sponge, he absorbed. However we 
were good friends. He said it would be all right ; I felt 
all wrong. At one o'clock I saw two managers and the 
pretty barmaids were multiplied in my eyes. I tore 
myself away, but I am in treaty with the " Losaga." Nice 
place, the "Losaga," but rather insinuating. I concluded 
not to do any more work that day, so went home in 
a cab, to think over to-morrow's campaign. You shall 
have full particulars. My landlady opened the door to 
me as I could not find my key. In the evening I had 
some tea. I feel that I shall do a great deal of business 
for you, as I come of a diligent family, and know how 
to represent things. I have great confidence in the 

48 The Nobleman on the Turf. 

future ; we shall do big things together, as I mean 
business. I beg to subscribe myself your faithful can- 

' I should call him a very valuable man to have on 
the staff, and decorate him with the universal Order of 
the Sack and Bullet,' remarked Mr. Pimplepeck. 

' I shall at once, never fear,' replied Mr. Overset, 
who, looking round him, saw some sheets of paper 
recently covered. 

' Something new ? ' he added ; ' may I look ? ' 

' If you like,' answered Pimplepeck, filling his pipe. 
( It's not much. I sent the tale to a magazine, and 
the editor with that charming liberality which dis- 
tinguishes his class sent it back again. Perhaps he was 
right. Perhaps it wasn't worth printing. At all events 
I have turned it to account by altering the finish so as 
to suit the enterprising firm of Clapper and Treadle, 
the sewing-machine makers, who are going to use it as 
a L. ill. It may be a degradation of the author's art, 
but one must keep the pot boiling, and after all, to raise 
the standard of advertisers' English is doing good to 
the community at large. I think I am entitled to 
credit for such an ingenious idea. Read it and tell me 
what you think of it. There isn't much of it. First 
you have the straightened circumstances at home, res 
angusta domi you know ; then emigration, then the 
wreck, then the savages, and finally the puff insidious. 

Mr. Overset cast his eyes over the MS. and read — 

Times were bad in England. 

James Hudson was a dockyard hand, and when the 
ministers of the Crown thought it advisable to reduce 
the establishments of the country, he with others was 
discharged. Now a shipwright is not a man who can 
easily find employment. 

He thought of going to the banks of the Clyde, but 

Kmipson's Warning. 49 

learnt that the yards there were over-crowded. Ship- 
building on the Thames was in a state of stagnation. 
So James Hudson remained at Woolwich, with the gaunt 
spectre of coming starvation staring him in the face. 

He could not adopt Earl Russell's motto, ' Rest, and 
be thankful.' 

To be up and doing was his wish. Activity was his 

It was hard to see his household goods going one by 
one to the pawnbrokers for that daily bread which, 
through no fault of his own, he was debarred from 

At last, in sheer desperation, he bethought him of 
the Emigration Commissioners, and made an appli- 
cation to be sent out somewhere. He was successful. 
Dearly as he loved his country, he preferred expatri- 
ation to the workhouse, and determined to leave his 
native land. 

His wife said she would go anywhere with him. 
They had no children, so they sold what furniture re- 
mained to them, and quickly make their preparations. 

Australia was the colony to which he was to be sent, 
and though he had no clear idea of what he would do 
when he got there, he was ready to turn his hand to 
anything and everything. 

The good ship, ' Golden Star,' sailed in the autumn 
from the London Docks, with several emigrants and a 
large cargo. 

She made a prosperous voyage until she had per- 
formed two-thirds or thereabouts of the journey, when 
a storm arose which disabled the ship. 

The vessel drifted towards the land, which was said 
by the officers to be inhabited by savages. 

Some took to the boats and were never heard of 
more ; others remained on board till the ' Golden Star ' 
drove on the rocks and became a total wreck. 

50 The Nobleman on the Turf. 

Hudson and his wife clung to a spar, and, praying to 
heaven for protection and deliverance, were washed 


They of all the ship's company and passengers were 
the only ones fortunate enough to reach the land. 

Almost immediately they were surrounded by 
savages, half naked, and of a ferocious aspect, who by 
signs gave them to understand that they were prisoners. 

A party escorted them inland to a town composed of 
rudely- constructed huts, and after allowing them some 
food, consisting of the flesh of wild animals and rice, 
compelled them to work in various menial occupations. 

The unhappy captives saw that they were doomed to 
a life of slavery, and their tears fell fast. 

Other of the natives proceeded in canoes to the wreck, 
a> soon as the violence of the storm had moderated, and 
brought to shore such of the cargo as they were able 
to save. 

Thev obtained in this way a large quantity of calico 
and cotton prints in pieces, some of which they tore up, 
and fantastically arrayed their bodies in. 

' If 1 onlv had a needle and cotton,' said Mrs. Hud- 
son when she saw that, ' I might make clothes for the 
poor creatures.' 

But such things as needles and cotton had never been 
seen in the country since human beings existed on it. 

A few days afterwards they saw the chief standing in 
perplexity before something, which excited his liveliest 

He b ec k onet ! to James to approach, 
a am ■ y ' 1 ne , vei Y cr ied Mrs. Hudson, < if he hasn't got 
meTo7n laChlne ! , 1 member there was a consifn- 

Se « Go?d2 P sL?' d ' Treadle,B Sil6nt macLines on board 
She was right. 

The natives had obtained from the wreck a h and . 

Kempsons Warning. 51 

some sewing machine, manufactured by those celebrated 
makers, and with it a box of cottons, needles, and 
everything requisite for its proper working for a long 
period of time. 

Calling his wife, who thoroughly understood its 
management, James stood by, while the delighted 
natives saw her cut up a piece of cotton printing, and 
make a dress for the chief's wife. 

This lady was charmed with her new attire. 

All the females adopted the new fashion of wearing 
something, and Mrs. Hudson was kept in constant 

Instead of being treated as slaves, the captives were 
given a house to live in, and paid great attention. 
They had servants assigned them, and were supplied 
with as good provisions as graced the table of the chief. 

When the females were clothed the men came in for 
their share of the other stuffs, and soon presented the 
appearance of a civilised community. 

Six months passed, and at the end of that time a 
sailing vessel, driven by stress of weather, cast anchor 
near the shore. 

James Hudson communicated with them by signal. 

The captain of the ship sent a boat to shore, and 
made arrangements to take the captives on board with 

Very sorry were the natives to part with them. Each 
brought a present of ivory or gold dust, until James 
found himself the possessor of a large treasure. 

He bid his kind friends adieu with genuine regret, 
and sailed to Sydney, whither the ship was bound, and 
there sold his ivory and gold dust for a good round 
sum, which enabled him to start in business. 

Now he is a rich merchant, and has many ships of 
his own. 

In all their prosperity the husband and wife never 

E 2 

52 The Nobleman on the Turf. 

forgot that they owed their success to the accidental 
use of one of Clapper and Treadle's silent sewing ma- 

We may add, par parenthese, that many others, in a 
different way, owe their success in life to the same 
indispensable article of domestic use. 

But this by the way. 

' Very neatly put,' answered Mr. Overset, when he 
had finished. 

' Isn't it ? ' said Mr. Pimplepeck, much delighted. 
' There is a free and easiness about my style which 
woidd, I flatter myself, render me particularly useful to 
the sporting aristocracy among whom I am about to 
move. I will adapt myself to the stable and write slang 
as they talk it, and — ' 

' What's more to the purpose, if you hear what is 
going on in the stable let me know,' interrupted Mr. 
Overset ; ' Mr. Hines only tells me what he likes, and 
if I could get any direct information from you, all the 
better for both of us. I shall know how to turn it to 

' Rely upon me. My opinion of Mr. Hines is this. 
He is one of those men who will either land himself the 
owner of ten thousand a year in somebody else's ances- 
tral domains, or in Newgate.' 

' That's no business of ours.' 

' Not in the least. I'll drink his health.' 

< So will I. ' 

Mr. Pimplepeck and Mr. Overset being quite in 
accord, shook hands and fraternised exceedingly. The 
former was so much pleased with the prospect before 
him that he led his mole a very hard life of it for the 
next two minutes, and when he left off his delicate 
attention, it glowed like a fiery coal. 

We have now given a brief account of Mr. Nicholas 
Coper, Mr. Overset, and Mr. Pimplepeck, trainer, editor, 

Kempson-s Warning. 53 

and secretary. Such were the tools Mr. Hines had 
chosen to work with. 

Meanwhile the time passed on. 

The Duke of Masborough became as notorious as 
ever he could wish, and his name was continually in 
everybody's mouth for some wild escapade or other. 
Mr. Hines ran his horses as he pleased and made 
money, while the duke, it need scarcely be said, lost it. 

As an instance of how he was made use of by in- 
different scoundrels, we will relate an anecdote of what 
befel him in one of those nocturnal resorts where night 
birds and scamps congregate to drink bad champagne, 
and think that they are leading a fast life and doing the 
proper thing. 

The duke was sitting upon a luxuriously cushioned 
divan. The room was crowded. The time half-past 
twelve. He had a friend by his side. The gas was 
glaring, also champagne flowing. A betting man of 
the lowest order and a professed pugilist dropped his 
hat in front of the duke and said in an insolent tone, — 

' Masborough, pick up my hat ! ' 

The duke's blood rushed to his face, and rising in- 
dignantly he trod on the hat, crushing it out of shape. 
That done, he resumed his seat. It being the eve of 
the Ascot Cup the place was crowded, and the people 
present looked forward with pleasant anticipation to 
a row. 

1 Your Grace has insulted me ! ' said the betting-man, 
whose name was Clincher, ' and if you don't want me 
to punch your head here, you will come into an inner 
room and fight me for fifty pounds a side. You're man 
enough for that, I suppose.' 

The proprietor of the establishment, who, it may be 
mentioned, was in this little piece of business, came up, 
it having been arranged between him and Clincher a 
few minutes previously. His name was Tarpot. 

54 The Nobleman on the Turf. 

'Better do as he says, my lord,' said Mr. Tarpot; 
' you can lick him easy. He can't fight. He's a hully. 
A gentleman can always welt a rough. Give him what 
he deserves, I'll see fair play. You can have my kitchen' 
for a dust up.' 

' Very well,' answered the duke, whose blood was on 

They went downstairs to the kitchen, and the table 
being pushed on one side, they took off their coats and 
stood opposite each other. 

'Fifty pounds a side,' said Clincher; 'that's under- 
stood, isn't it ? ' 

' Yes, that's all right ; you needn't be in a hurry to 
part,' replied Tarpot on behalf of the duke. 

They then set to, and Clincher contented himself 
with hitting the duke continually on the nose, until 
that unoffending member began to swell up in a most 
alarming manner. 

After the tenth round, Mr. Tarpot held up a looking- 
glass before Masborough, saying, ' You've copt it on 
the nose, my lord ; it's a swelling awful, and to-morrow, 
the cup day, you'll never be fit to be seen.' 

' I must go,' replied Masborough. 

' You can't, my lord, if your beauty's spylt,' returned 

' I can lick that ruffian ; I feel sure of it. I'm as 
fresh as ever, and he has two black eyes already.' 

' Well, if you like to go to Ascot with a nose as big 
as a saveloy, my lord, it's no business of mine. I only 
thought I'd tell you.' 

' Devil take the fellow, I suppose I must let him off. 
Give me my coat and a pen and ink ; I'll write him a 
cheque for fifty.' 

He did so, and handing it to Mr. Clincher, said, 
1 Here you are ; I give it you because I am not a black- 
guard, and must turn out to-morrow. If it had not 

Kempson' s Warning. 55 

been for that I'd have pounded your ugly face into a 
jelly for you.' 

' Your Grace has paid forfeit,' said Clincher, with a 
grin, ' and it don't much matter what you say now.' 

' Tarpqt ! ' exclaimed the duke, ' I insist upon that 
fellow being instantly turned out, and give me some 
hot water.' 

' Take care of the proboscis, my lord,' cried Clincher, 
as he went up the stairs. The duke threw the water 
jug at him, but missed his aim. He bathed his nose, 
and was soon upstairs again, little dreaming that the 
whole affair had been arranged to get fifty pounds out 
of him, and that he was purposely only hit on the nose 
to disfigure it, and to make him leave off the contest. 
But so it was, and an hour afterwards Mr. Tarpot and 
Mr. Clincher with mutual satisfaction divided the 

Kempson, the Duke's valet, obtained some powder of 
a miraculous nature, which was supposed to be an anti- 
dote to bruises, and applied it to the injured part, on 
his Grace's return to his house in Hill Street, Berkeley 

This man was an old servant of the Masboroughs, 
and had the greatest possible love and respect for his 

On leaving Compton Castle, the duchess had taken 
him on one side, saying, ' Kempson, you are a trust- 
worthy fellow.' 

' I hope so, your Grace,' he replied. 

' You will have a great insight to my son's private 
life, because you will be always with him. Now I 
want you to promise me you will look after him, and 
put him on his guard if you see any plot being hatched 
for his ruin.' 

' I'll do my best,' Kempson said. 

' You will promise me this, Kempson ? ' 

56 The Nobleman on the Turf. 

c On the word of a man, your grace.' 

The duchess was satisfied, and Kempson felt the 
pi'ide of one in whom confidence was placed. 

Being a shrewd, keen fellow, he quickly saw that 
Mr. Hines had surrounded his master with . his own 
creatures, and he kept a particular watch upon Mr. 
Pimplepeck, for whom he had a strong aversion. 

This evening he exclaimed, as he was arranging the 
duke's slippers and dressing-gown for the morning 
after his Grace had got into bed, flushed with wine and 
excitement — 

' You'll excuse me, I hope, your Grace, if I unburden 
my mind a bit ? ' 

' Give me a soda and B. first, my good fellow, and 
I'll listen to you,' answered Masborough. 

Kempson did so, and went on. ' I am afraid Mr. 
Hines is not altogether square.' 

'How's that?' 

1 He thinks of feathering his own nest, and Pimple- 
peck's only a spy.' 

1 In what way ? What makes you say that ? ' asked 
the duke. 

' Because he often goes to Mr. Hines in the evening 
when he leaves here, and gives him notes of what you've 
said and done, and ordered him to write. You had 
better be on your guard ; if not, your Grace may find 
out these men too late.' 

'Nonsense, Kempson; you bore me.' 

' It is not nonsense,' replied Kempson, doggedly. 

' Tell me to-morrow ; I shan't sleep if I'm bothered,' 
said the duke. 

' Very well ; I've done my duty in warning your 
Grace, and if you won't listen to me it's not my 

1 Be off, and call me early for Ascot,' cried the duke, 
turning over to go to sleep. 

Kempson' s Warning. 57 

"With a sigh Kempson put out the lights, and went 

On the stairs he muttered — ' I promised her Grace I'd 
look after him, and I'll keep my word. He's got a pack 
of scoundrels about him who are bent on eating him up, 
and if that Hines is not a precious villain, I'll never 
touch a glass of beer again. Yes, I'll do my best, and 
please God I'll save him yet.' 

Thus in the person of this poor man-servant did a 
mother's love show itself, and he watched over him in 
his folly, though he was far from giving him credit for 
his affection, nor did he really know what a kind, 
generous heart beat under the rough exterior of so 
apparently an insignificant person as Kempson. 




A great deal may be done in two years in dissipating 
a large fortune, and in the Duke of Masborough's case 
a great deal was done. 

The duke lost prodigious sums of money, and Mr. 
Hines, as a matter of course, reaped the benefit of his 

But it happened that certain events occurred for 
which Mr. Hines was unprepared, and they eventually 
upset all his calculations. 

It may be readily imagined that her son's folly caused 
the duchess infinite annoyance 

In vain she remonstrated with him, and Mr. Whittaker 
was equally unsuccessful in his good-natured efforts to 
stop his foolish career. 

In the midst of his dissipation and folly, it was evi- 
dent that Masborough was not happy. He was restless 
and uneasy. The obedience which he yielded to Hines 
galled him, and his recklessness was that of a species of 

One day the duchess, accompanied by Mr. Whittaker, 
called upon the duke at his chambers in St. James's. 
It was early in the morning, but his Grace was astir, 
and his drag stood at the door. A great race in the 
neighbourhood of London was to be run that day, and 
he had promised to drive a select circle of friends to the 

He was glad to see his mother, so he said, and felt 
honoured by Mr. Whittaker's visit, but he begged 

After Two Years. 59 

that they would excuse him, as he had an important 

' I cannot excuse you, Arthur/ replied his mother ; 
' because I have come on business of a much more im- 
portant nature than can possibly take up your time.' 

' The old, old story, I suppose,' the duke said, with a 
yawn. ' Prodigal son, and all that sort of thing.' 

' Not exactly, ' replied the duchess ; ' I have come to 
save you.' 

' From what ? ' 

' The destruction with which you are threatened, and 
to release you.' 

' Once more, what from ? ' 

' The thraldom of Mr. Hines — your evil genius.' 

' But I do not admit that there is any thraldom,' said 
Masborough, uneasily. 

' My dear Arthur, whatever you do and say in the 
world, you must not trifle with your mother. You are 
in that bad man's power, and you cannot deny it.' 

" Well, what have you to say about it ? I will not con- 
tradict you,' he remarked, after a pause. 

' I know all about his hold over you, and I can free 

' Can you indeed ? ' cried Masborough, with a sparkle 
of joy in his eyes. ' If you can do that, you will indeed 
be my saviour. Tell me what you mean.' 

' Armenie Sifllet is dead,' said his mother. 

The effect of these words upon the duke was magical. 
He fell back in a chair breathing heavily, and was much 

Mr. Whittaker had taken no part in the conversation. 
Once or twice he had seemed desirous of speaking, but 
the duchess waved her hand, so he did not speak. 

' Armenie dead,' repeated the duke. ' How do you 
know that ? ' 

' Because Jean, her father, has been to me and re- 

60 The Nobleman on the Turf. 

lated the whole affair, begging for more money, as Mr. 
Hines had overreached himself in stopping the sup- 

' Then you know all ? ' 

' All. I know how you met this girl Armenie in 
Baden, and how Hines induced you to marry her in a 
moment of infatuation and, shall I say, intoxication, 
and then persuaded you to desert her ; I know how he 
afterwards told you that she was a woman of infamous 
character, and that it would ruin you to acknowledge 
her in public, and for that reason you agreed to make 
her and her father an allowance, on the understanding 
that they should not molest you. This is the secret of 
Mr. Hines's power over you, and now that we have 
proof of Armenie 's death we can defy him.' 

The duke was profoundly affected. 

1 My dear mother, I have always known you to be my 
best friend, and if I have been wanting in affection or 
duty to you, it is entirely owing to the influence of that 
man Hines, who has warped me from the proper path. 
You do not know what I have suffered.' 

' Things might have been much worse,' said Mr. 
Whittaker. ' The fact of the marriage can, I believe, 
be disputed. You were a Protestant, she a Catholic. 
However, the great thing is that she is dead and has no 
power to molest you. Mr. Hines is now like a serpent 
without a sting. 

' Thank Grod,' ejaculated the duke, ' this horrible 
artificial life is over. I am deeply indebted to you, 
mother, and also to you, Mr. Whittaker, and I fear I 
have not always treated you with the consideration such 
a kind friend deserves.' 

At this moment Mr. Hines entered the room. He 
was dressed for the road, having a light dust coat on, 
and a case containing race glasses slung over his 

After Tico Years. 61 

On seeing the duchess and Mr. Whittaker, he bowed 
with his accustomed politeness, but only met with a 
cool stare in return. 

' Mr. Whittaker, will you oblige me by speaking to 
this man ? ' said her Grace. 

' Certainly, with all the pleasure in the world,' 
answered Mr. Whittaker. 

' Speak to me ? Did I understand your Grace to say 
that you wished this gentleman to speak to me ? ' ex- 
claimed Mr. Hines. 

' Yes, to you.' 

1 Very well. I am at his service.' 

Mr. Hines sat down and disposed himself in a careless 
attitude to listen to what was coming, not for a moment 
expecting that a thunderclap was about to burst over 
his head which would annihilate him. 

1 In the first place,' said Mr. Whittaker, l you have 
acted as the Duke of Masborough's agent. This agency 
ceases from this hour, and we shall require an account 
from you. If, as we believe, the accounts are defective, 
or purposely falsified, they will be examined by com- 
petent accountants, and proceedings, if advisable, taken 
against you in the Criminal Courts.' 

' I don't think his Grace will act thus with me/ said 
Hines, with a sickly smile. 

' Have I your authority for speaking as I have done, 
Masborough ? ' asked Mr. Whittaker. 

' Most certainly,' was the duke's reply, in a firm 

Going over to his former dupe, Hines hissed in his 
ear — 

' Have you forgotten Baden ? ' 

'What does he say? We will have no whispering,' 
cried Mr. Whittaker. 

< He asks me if I have forgotten Baden,' said the 

62 The Nobleman on the Turf. 

' Do you wish to defy me, all of you? ' cried Hines, 
as he glared round the room. 

' "We defy you? Yes,' returned the duchess. 

< Listen to this. Armenie Sifflet is dead,' Mt. Whit- 
taker exclaimed. 

' Dead 1 ' gasped the wretched man. 

1 We" can prove it. Jean has been with us. She is 
dead. We know that you caused my unfortunate son 
to marry the poor creature, and you have threatened 
him ever since that you will put him face to face in 
London society with his wife, if he thwarted you. 
Now Armenie is dead, my son can afford to laugh at 
your threats. Your power is at an end, and you will 
be compelled by the law to give up your ill-gotten 

While the duchess was speaking, Mr. Hines grew 
dangerously pale. 

He pressed his hand to his head as if in pain. 

His accusers waited for some minutes for him to 

Then Mr. Whittaker shook him by the arm, ex- 
claiming — 

' Have you nothing to say ? ' 

The man turned a blank expressionless face upon him, 
and did not appear to recognise him. 

' Send for a doctor. He is going to have a fit or 
some dreadful thing,' the duchess said. 

A doctor was sent for, and when he came he heard 
what had taken place, and having briefly examined Mr. 
Stoney Hines, exclaimed — 

' The shock of this sudden and unexpected revelation 
acting upon a weak and nervous organisation, has been 
too much for him.' 

' Too much ! ' repeated Mr. Whittaker. 

' Yes ; the man is an idiot.' 

At this terrible communication, every one turned pale. 

After Two Years. 63 

The duchess shuddered. 

If his faults had been great, his punishment was 
truly awful. 

Mr. Hines now broke into a loud laugh. The doctor 
spoke to him and he gibed and gibbered in return'; he 
did not know any one in the room, and his brain seemed 
to be as much effaced as a slate which has had the 
figures rubbed off it with a sponge. 

He was taken away and placed in a lunatic asylum, 
where he remained for some years, the Duke of 
Masborough paying liberally for his support. 

We need scarcely say that after this delivery from 
bad hands, the duke sold his racing establishment, keep- 
ing only a few favourite horses. Much of the money 
that Mr. Hines had robbed him of was returned, and 
after all no great harm was done. He had his mother 
to thank for his salvation, and he did not fail to show 
her that he was grateful for her watchful kindness. 

The death of Armenie Sifflet did not grieve the duke 
because he had never loved her. Mr. Hines, for his 
own purposes, had induced him to marry her, which he 
did at an early age, and while half intoxicated. 

Mr. Pimplepeck, Mr. Wassett, and Mr. Nicholas 
Coper were all thrown out of employment by the 
melancholy collapse of Hines. But they were not long 
before they found fresh work for idle hands to do in a 
congenial sphere. 

The Duchess of Masborough purposely brought her 
son in contact again with Miss Emily Arnott. 

They had not seen much of one another during the 
gap of two years, during which his grace had been 
running his career on the turf, and fancying himself a 
great man, when as he was in reality a very little one, 
acting the part of a puppet, the strings of the fantoccini 
being pulled by Mr. Stoney Hines. 

Emily freely forgave him for his want of attention, 

64 The Nobleman on the Turf. 

and, to the delight of his friends, Masborough married 
the most charming girl in the country. 

So he was saved after all, and one of the grandest old 
names in the peerage was not dragged through the mire 
of the bill discounter's office and the bankruptcy court. 
There was no necessity to write upon an early tomb- 
stone, ' He died of sixty per cent.' After his marriage, 
his Grace devoted himself to politics, and the outside 
public knowing little or nothing about his affairs, be- 
lieved that he gave up racing because it interfered with 
his wish to be a legislator. His speeches in the House of 
Lords were extensively read and much admired, and 
Mr. Ommaney Lane Whittaker says, with a smile of 
satisfaction, ' I always knew that Masborough could 
not prove untrue to the traditions of his race.' 





0> T the 19th of December, 1793, the Republican army 
entered Toulon. On the following morning an order 
of the day, issued by the representatives of the people, 
strictly enjoined the inhabitants of the city to repair at 
a certain hour to a large open space, named the Field 
of Battles. To this order there was no exception. 
Never before had such an arbitrary and apparently 
purposeless decree been issued. Men, women, and 
children, all were to go. In addition to this, every- 
body was to leave the door of his or her house open, so 
that patrols, told off for that purpose, could go from 
street to street and make a house-to-house examination, 
to satisfy the representatives of the people that none of 
the population, defying their decree, were concealed in 
their dwellings. 

On the 21st of December, in obedience to the order, 
the entire population went to the place designated. 
No wonder that they were disquieted, and that one 


66 Under the Terror. 

man scarcely looked another in the face. Eumour as 
usual was rife, but, although the most alarming reports 
were in circulation, no one could speak with any certainty 
as to the object of this collection in mass. The times 
were troublous, and the general idea was that a whole- 
sale pillage was contemplated. So men whispered to 
one another. Even influential citizens were afraid to 
speak loudly, for so many informers, and red-hot Re- 
publican agitators, were about, that a few chance 
words might give a spy sufficient ground whereon to 
found a charge of treason. 

In a word, the people were maddened by this newly 
found liberty, and the excesses which the Republic 
allowed them to plunge into all over the country. For 
this the late government was to blame. France had 
been shamefully mismanaged, and the people had much 
to avenge. Unfortunately, to let loose an infuriated 
public is like raising a floodgate without the means 
to close it against the torrent of water that you re- 

The idea of general pillage found many supporters, 
because, the city being denuded of its inhabitants, all 
the shopkeepers being away, and no one left to protect 
property, the valuable goods would be at the mercy of 
the soldiery, if they chose to act the part of brigands. 

It must be recollected that the Republic had a grudge 
against Toulon. The conduct of the people had occa- 
sioned the country an immense and almost an irreparable 
loss, for it was alleged against them that they had 
given to the English its navy and its arsenal, with 
all the vast stores contained within it. It could be 
easily understood that the principal citizens would pre- 
fer a universal system of plundering to the sanguinary 
executions to which every part of France was now 
subjected. Those who entertained this view schooled 
themselves to find their houses ransacked and rendered 

The Order of the Day. 67 

desolate on their return, and, in some instances, it was 
almost laughable to see what miserable countenances 
those had who tried to be most calm and philosophical 
under their contemplated misfortune. 

Certainly the order was a startling one, but those 
who had been most guilty in betraying their country 
by their incapacity and cowardice were most happy in 
the expectation that their houses would be plundered 
and their lives spared, for a man can scrape wealth and 
furniture together, though he be reduced to poverty, if 
his life be given him. All they were afraid of was 
being killed. No man's life was safe. The guillotine 
was rampant, and reared its ghastly head everywhere. 
Xo one could make sure to-day of having his head on 
his shoulders to-morrow. People remembered what 
had taken place at Lyons. Resistance was futile. 
Every one walked with an air of resignation. Calamity 
stared them in the face. This hour they lived, the next 
they might be dead, or penniless. 

As a matter of fact, this was one of the most unheard 
of and surprising phenomena of this extraordinary 
epoch. A single man, condemned to death, may not 
have the spirit to resist the executioner, but a large 
body of men might be expected to attempt rebellion 
against an arbitrary decree, which possibly meant 
extermination. Possibly the fault, which may be called 
a crime, weighed upon the consciences of the population 
of Toulon, for they did not endeavour to resist. At the 
given time every one had come to the vast enclosure of 
the Field of Battles, and, when all were assembled, the 
exits were closed and guarded by armed men. 

The Toulonaise were prisoners, and several pieces of 
cannon were turned towards them, the mouths gaping 
at their midst, threatening to pour in their iron hail at 
the least movement manifested by the crowd. In ad- 
dition to this, a double row of soldiers, with fixed 

f 2 

68 Under the Terror. 

bayonets, encircled them, as if to complete the work 
which the artillery might leave unfinished. 

A silence resembling that of the grave fell upon all 
those mewed up in this huge enclosure. Men could 
not speak to their wives, mothers were too terrified to 
address their children, or reassure them with kind 
words. The women clung to the men for protection, 
and strong men wept to think that it was out of their 
power to render them any. Many, utterly terrified, ex- 
changed mute adieus by a shaking of the han ds. So awfu 1 
was the suspense that the crowd thought neither of life 
or death. They simply wondered, like those half stunned, 
what next would happen. Under the dreadful pressure 
put upon them, their faculties were becoming numbed. 

Suddenly the roll of the drums broke the silence. 

Some assumed a defiant air, some fell on their knees 
as if they would make their peace with heaven while 
time was yet allowed them. On the faces of all conster- 
nation was more than ever depicted. 

For a few seconds, it may be safely said, that no 
sound interrupted the beat of the drum, except the 
scarcely perceptible murmur of ten thousand lips that 
prayed. They knew not what might come next. The 
cannon might roar and tear them to pieces, the soldiers 
might shoot them as they stood, or knock or pierce 
them with the bayonet, they knew not, but they prayed. 
It was an hour of supreme suspense and peril. The 
most hardened supplicated the throne of Grace. 

Those who were bold enough to still keep their eyes 
open, in a short time perceived a large number of sailors 
enter the enclosure ; on their hats was written in large 
letters, 'Patriots of the Aristides.' The ' Aristides ' 
was the only vessel which had not given itself up to the 
English. The captain in command of the sailors made 
extraordinary efforts to avoid dishonour, and it had been 
declared in the Assembly that they had deserved well of 

The Order of the Day. 69 

the country. The conduct of the ' Aristides ' had been 
much talked about in Toulon, and when the famous and 
dreaded name was seen, a panic fear seized possession of 
those who had hitherto been hopeful. The words 
' Patriots of the " Aristides " ' had a terrible significance 
for the Toulonaise. They meant retribution. Each 
sailor was accompanied by two soldiers. They walked 
slowly, looking carefully around them ; at intervals 
they indicated a person by the motion of the hand, and 
he was instantly dragged out of the enclosure, and shot 
by a firing squad, in attendance for that purpose. 
There was no warrant for the arrest, no trial ; a butcher 
could not have picked out with more unconcern certain 
animals from a herd of bullocks to be led to the slaughter 
house. The sailors selected people prominent among the 
townspeople, and all so chosen were immediately shot, 
as traitors to their country. Some made selections at 
random : men were pointed out because they were well 
dressed, and looked like aristocrats, an unpardonable 
offence just then ; others, because of their noble air or 
defiant bearing, for even in that terrible hour there were 
those whose bravery supported them ; but one man 
wandered restlessly through the throng, evidently seek- 
ing some one particular person. He stood on tip-toe, 
and looked over the heads of the crowd and there was 
an expression of anxious ferocity mingled with anticipated 
revenge upon his rough, unintellectual, battered face ; 
he was like a wild beast searching for prey. The 
representatives of the people could not have selected a 
better man to carry out the stern decree, by means of 
which they had determined to punish the townspeople. 
At times he would dart forward with outstretched hand, as 
if he had at last discovered the object of his search, but 
he would recoil with a disappointed air, as the look of 
gratified vengeance died out of his gleaming eyes. He 
had been mistaken. Not yet ; he must search further 

70 Under the Terror. 

and go wider afield. There were victims enough at 
hand, had he desired indiscriminate bloodshed ; but he 
was evidently searching for an enemy, and the rage 
burning in his face showed that he would not relax his 
energy until he was found. 

The day crept on ; the firing was not so frequent as it 
had been at first, the ' Patriots of the " Aristides " ' were 
becoming glutted, and people stared wonderingly, or 
drew back in awe when this sailor passed them, gazing 
at them with fiendish curiosity : the task of blood was 
nearly accomplished. The representatives of the people 
were considering the propriety of announcing by a fresh 
roll of the drums that justice was appeased, when one 
sailor stopped suddenly before a young girl, and point- 
ing her out to a soldier, said, ' That is she.' 

At those words the girl looked up, as if wondering to 
whom they applied ; they were of dire import, and she 
knew well enough sounded the knell of some one. This 
indifference increased the anger of the sailor, who cried 
more loudly than before, ' Take her away ; have I not 
said that she is the one ? ' Then she regarded the sailor 
with a fixed stare, in which there was no recognition. 
She was astonished, that was all, and her accuser was 
rendered furious at her apparent indifference. Evi- 
dently wishing her to know who he was, he addressed 
her in an insolent tone — 

' I am Jean Poyer,' he said ; ' you know me now. 
Come, prepare ; you are to die.' He eagerly awaited 
the effect of his words. 

' Jean Poyer,' she replied in a puzzled voice, and she 
said the name over to herself, as if trying to recall it ; 
but eventually she bowed her head, to indicate that her 
memory would not serve her. 

' Away with her,' cried the sailor with a tigerish 
look, leaning toward her as if he could himself have 
been her executioner. 

The Order of the Day. 71 

' Mind what you are about, perhaps you may be mis- 
taken,' said the soldier who accompanied him. 

Jean Poyer retired a few steps to carefully survey the 
soldier who was audacious enough to call his will in 
question, and said, ' I tell you, it is she ! ' 

'Who?' asked the soldier, grounding his musket, as 
if anxious to provoke a colloquy which might save the 

' Who ? Why Miss Carmelite de Brissac. Do you 
think I don't know her ? ' 

' That is my name,' said the young lady, mildly. 

' You see,' said the sailor, ' she does not deny it ; take 
her away, and let her be shot like the rest.' 

The soldier knew that it was dangerous to resist the 
order of any sailor of the ' Aristides,' but a very strange 
sympathy had sprung up in his rugged heart, which 
beat warmly beneath his uniform, for the defenceless 
creature. He would have taken a man to death without 
a scruple. He had killed the enemies of his country on 
the battle field, but a woman, a mere girl — 'twas a 
different affair altogether. 

' What has she done to deserve to be shot ? ' he 

' Never mind ; that is my business. I order it. I 
Jean Poyer, able seaman, and patriot of the "Aristides." ' 

The crowd grew denser round the disputants and 
their victim ; murmurs of approbation arose at the 
soldier's boldness, when another ' Aristides' man came 
up, and carelessly inquired of his messmate what was 
the matter. 

' Matter enough,' replied Jean Poyer. ' This mili- 
tary traitor refuses to obey my commands and conduct 
an aristocrat to execution.' 

' Ah ! ' observed the second sailor, regarding Miss de 
Brissac with an air of admiration ; ' she is pretty, and 
the soldier has good taste.' 

72 f/wfor Um Terror, 

An Im fcpoko, iii; U,ok fin; iiin;rfy of rttinUt^ in,r ol/J//, 
miA looking more elowAy td iter ilei'nnfe nUin miA regu- 
lar feidnmn. <ireu,f nn wm Uh ruAenem, nim 'li'l nol, 
(Um; U> iiroUfol, H, w«* mi nj/e, of i'i<'A;nm t »uA «f«s Wtt# 
l>owerU,m j l/«;«i»l«i« f i\to fenr of Aeuiii enenmunmeA iier f 
MiA n\ui W»M iiki; one, nfiititnA hy u ttuAAen e,nin,mify. 

' I'll m,v<; Ut-,r ii' n\n; iiUm U> \>uf \n;m;\i"m my wtikn 
tiinl Uo'tni lU;\iiAAi<;n,n wAournJ ennfimnA in;. 

' MoiUeir yon nor nny out; ehe AnAi navn in;r* i;i'ieA 
Aetm foyer, fntiotiAy J 'li<;r life in forf';'iU'A t iwMUHtf \, 
exert-hiiiy my ri//M,, Imve orAenA iter <// im n\uA,V 

' I Aon'f know niioui Umi/ m'n\ fin; m'Aor, mimuriny. 
Win utilttitomnf wiih l/i« eye,. 

i 'l'in;n I Ai;Ai li-.vie to innkn yon' re\AiiA I'oyer, 
vAnw, wmfii wun for fin; momenf A'r/eiU'A from one 

oi/ji;(-l \*> Ulioiili't. 

If v/m e-iiAenf U/o«<; men, Wionyli ner'/iny in fin; mum 
fcbij/, v/wo nof on frieinlly U;imn. 'i'in'ir fwe,», exoie,nni/il 
Minimal imU; unit AiA,ruA,\ fin; one win i imA 'inU;if',riA 
fiM, »n immhiukniAt', \Ai;imw, in frying in fiir/iirf }//►*, 
nii'iiiiintU;, si ml lilt; i;rowi y unf\';i\i»S'inu » ''/»iU;A, liefy/wii 
ilntn, ginAiy Ail;-// i,w!f, on ftii wUfa. iioy'm^ fimi, », 
ftivoiirniAi; niver Aon for Sin; yonny IsiAy lnaA h'sn <;ti;,t)>A 
}/■/ iin; mereA, ;i'/,iAoni„ 

If mny in; 'mUseA/my <// A';n/;iAn; Amu i'oyer, wlio 
wm a. mmt of sAiotif fori// yearn of aye, tniiier Aioif ;nnl 
lii'i'kv;!, j imi limit* r/ori; ii'ty, li'm oii'Ai i/tonA, MiA fin; 
nnw,U;n pJntiAiny, ouf '/// iii», urm* AwnAt-A yi'/A tAr/nt>;tt,l 
kU-i;iif/i.ii ; ill*, iff/; WM iUti, M\A WMI't'Af Uh VilhiihuA 
low ttiA tAmo'A, iiiiiUA, in* \mtr nA, unA \m o/.yrowiou 
man 'tin, <A %SnuiA iwocily, inSyiA onf wilit H A;tAi of 
U/W <;tt iminy. Jf<; \h>i\ iUo iiinU; fon'A; '■/iinmoii ♦// M/>:)> 
|//w tm.nS'A At'//i;io\itiii;)iU, mh\ J'/'JwJ '/mU^m^uoimiy ni, 
Win ntlv'',m>ry f r/iio wm U;u y^un iih junior f ittSS, win, 
tuiA n'A ttttyU'/aMttft m H\i\ii'Amtn<>A; ; ii'mim'tr wmiAtvM 
¥, H, riivwfn \Anm;>yi,:inA \An/uy)i \n>, imA no %ny,iSSwiu», 
\';%\i t>,i/*/ul ii'nitf A wan I't'My wiAtshi fit»i in; v/»% 


TJie Order of the Day. 73 

muscular, and knew his own power, Poyer seemed to 
have enfeebled himself by the excessive use of spirits, 
for his cheeks were red and his blood heated. The other 
from his pallor looked more temperate. Both wore 
coloured kerchief's round t'"°ir necks, tied in a knot, 
and both had large gold earrings pendant from 
their ears. One was a type of the sailor of Lower 
Brittany, low, coarse, brutal ; the other a Provencal, 
not yet wholly corrupted. One was middle-aged, the 
other young ; one plain, the other good-looking, if not 
handsome. The courage of one was cool and confident, 
that of the other, boastful and rash. They were born on 
the banks of rival rivers, among populations which 
habitually disputed with one another for maritime 
supremacy, that is to say, for the palm which the coun- 
try accorded to the best sailors. They had every reason 
in the world to hate one another, and they did hate 
most cordially. 

Jean Poyer took off his jacket and handed it to a 
by-stander ; his kerchief he rolled up and placed in 
his pocket, then he tightened his belt, while his antago- 
nist made similar preparations. 

' You are determined to save this aristocrat, Nicho- 
las ? ' he said. 

' As for that, I care little enough about her,' replied 
the sailor. ' You and I have an old score to settle, 
and ' 

' You shall not be disappointed, I say it on the word 
of a man,' interrupted Jean eagerly. ' Just give me 
five minutes while I see this traitress to the Republic 
shot, and I am with you. Wait here, or appoint 
any place of meeting you like ; there's my hand on 

It is highly probable that Nicholas would have com- 
plied with this request had he not caught Miss Carme- 
lite de Brissac's expressive eyes fixed upon him with 

74 Under the Terror. 

such a supplicating expression that he could not resist 
their mute prayer. 

' No,' he returned doggedly, clenching his fists, ' now 
or never.' 

The Bas-Breton set his teeth together, and, without 
further parley, landed himself upon Nicholas with a 
violence that threatened to exterminate him, but a 
soldier — the one, indeed, who had first befriended Miss 
de Brissac in the first instance — drew him on one side, 
and Jean was carried by the impetus of his attack into 
the middle of the crowd, who hooted and jeered at him. 
Quickly recovering himself, he was again before Nicho- 
las, and a terrible struggle began between those two men. 
Then it was that the soldier made his way to the 
young lady's side, and said in a whisper — 
' Escape ! Now is your time ! ' 

She did not remain to be advised twice, and, finding 
that the soldier was really in earnest in his determi- 
nation to save her, she glided away through the densely 
packed crowd; at the same moment the drums sounded 
the recall of the patriots of the " Aristides." The car- 
nival of slaughter was over. 

At this sound, which, infuriated as they were, they 
had the sense to recognize and obey, the two sailors 
separated, disfigured and hurt. Jean Poyer looked 
around him, and, failing to see his victim, a cry like 
that of a wild beast in the extremity of hunger escaped 
him. Turning to the soldier he said — 

' At least I know you. It is through you this has 
happened, and you shall pay for her, I swear it ! ' 

' Never fear,' exclaimed Nicholas. ' We are friends 
now, you and I. He has knocked me about like an old 
hogshead, and I will not help him to identify and 
establish a charge against you. Never fear, I say, he 
shall not hurt you, though the coward would have you 
made shorter by a head.' 

The Order of the Day. 75 

' Very well,' ejaculated Poyer, who directed himself 
towards that part of the enclosure where the represen- 
tatives of the people were assembled, ' we shall see.' 

Nicholas followed him more slowly, uttering con- 
tinued menaces, for he had come worst off in the 
encounter. At the same time the soldier fell back 
sadly, and took his place in the ranks, with the un- 
pleasant consciousness that, by interfering to save the 
life of an aristocrat and a suspect, he had placed his 
own in jeopardy. It would have been better for him 
had he obeyed the orders of the fierce patriot of the 
good ship " Aristides." 




In the evening of that sad December day, which had 
put half Toulon into mourning, the representatives of 
the people, Albitte, Salicetti and Barras, were closeted 
together, to consider what ulterior measures should be 
taken for the re-organisation of the city, when they 
were informed that the patriots of the 'Aristides' de- 
manded to see them. As those men had played such an 
important part in what may be called the ceremony of 
the day, it was decided to admit them at once. Jean 
Poyer Avas first introduced to the three members of the 
Convention, and he told his tale. A soldier had refused 
to seize an aristocrat in obedience to his orders, and 
she had escaped. Nicholas appeared in his turn, having 
come to defend the soldier as he had promised, and 
having heard his story, the representatives of the people 
were slightly embarrassed how to decide between two 
such distinguished patriots. At length Barras hit upon 
a middle course, and addressing himself first to Jean, 
said, ' Citizen patriot, your zeal shall be recompensed, 
you shall achieve the death of the woman you have 
proscribed ; find her out, and she shall be executed on 
the spot.' 

Then turning to Nicholas he continued — 
' As to you, my brave citizen, you shall also be recom- 
pensed. The soldier who has dared to disobey Jean 
Poyer deserves to be punished with death. We place 

Serjeant Berbhis. 77 

his life in your hands. If you denounce him he shall 
be led to the guillotine.' 

After this decision the patriots were shown to the 
door Jean discontented enough, because he had no 
means of tracing; Miss de Brissac. Nicholas feelino- 
that he had so far triumphed, since the soldier's life 
was at his disposal. As they came out of the Prefecture, 
Jean said — 

' I will have her head in spite of you.' 

And Nicholas replied — 

' I will save the soldier's in spite of you.' 

And they separated mutually defiant. 

Two days after this scene, a review of the troops in 
garrison was held on the Field of Battles. The soldier 
who had incurred Jean Poyer's displeasure was in the 
ranks, he had not been out of barracks for two days, 
fearing that some denunciation might overtake him, for 
the sailor had shown himself to be a vindictive person 
with a good memory. In fact, Jean had been searching 
for the soldier : he came to the conclusion that he might 
know something about Miss de Brissac, and be induced 
to give up her address ; as he had vainly searched 
through the city without finding any trace of her, he 
was baffled. Hearing of the review, Jean went to the 
Field of Battles and walked up and down to discover the 
soldier without success, but the latter saw him, and 
guessed for whom he was looking ; he became very 
much frightened, thinking that he intended to denounce 
him, not knowing that his life was safe in Nicholas's 
hands so long as the two shipmates continued enemies. 
In a short time the representatives of the people ajjpeared 
on the scene with the staff, and those men who had dis- 
tinguished themselves in late actions with the enemy 
were called forward and rewarded. At length they came 
to the battalion to which the soldier belonged. He heard 
a name called, Pierre Berbins. It was his own. His 

78 Under the Terror. 

knees shook, and all the blood deserted his cheeks. He, 
who had never felt a particle of fear in battle, exhibited 
all the signs of extreme cowardice, for he thought he 
was to be punished for his chivalrous behaviour towards 
a proscribed aristocrat. Seeing that he did not move, 
his sergeant-major exclaimed — 

' Here, Pierre Berbins, do you not hear yourself 
called ? Step forward, by your right, march. In 
obedience to the word of command, the soldier quitted 
the rear rank in which he was placed, and advanced 
slowly, not at all reassured to see Jean Poyer amongst 
the spectators ; arrived before Barras, he bent his head 
imagining that sentence of death was about to be passed 
upon him. But to his astonishment the representative 
said, Pierre Berbins, the French Republic, one and indi- 
visible, wishes to recompence those who have served it 
it with courage and fidelity ; for your patriotism and 
bravery, I name you sergeant of the company to which 
you belong. 

Pierre saluted in military fashion, and extending his 
arm received the stripes which indicated his rank. 
Then he rejoined his companions, not without casting 
a furtive glance to the corner in which he had re- 
marked the Bas-Breton sailor. 

It appeared that Pierre Berbins had well deserved 
the promotion which had been accorded him, for he 
was received with cheers from all in the battalion ; but 
the poor fellow was ill at ease, twenty cannons would 
not have made him quail, yet the mere thought of the 
guillotine unmanned him. He did not feel himself 
safe, he fancied that a great danger menaced him, and 
an icy sweat broke out on his brow, when -Jean Poyer 
waved his hand in token of recognition. 

Soon the attention of his comrades and of the crowd 
was attracted by fresh promotions ; nothing, however, 
could remove the preoccupation of Sergeant Berbins, 

Sergeant Berlins. 79 

whose want of enthusiasm struck every one as peculiar, 
and his dread increased when the company marched 
back to barracks, for he saw Jean Poyer place himself 
near the band, as if to follow it home and not lose 
sight of Berbins. Jean was at the gate as the men 
marched in, and his rough voice exclaimed, ' Good-day, 
my sergeant ! when you have done inside, then come 
out here, I have two words to say to you.' 

When the men were dismissed, the majority went 
to put away their arms, but Pierre remained sad and 
silent in the middle of the courtyard, resting upon 
his musket. The captain, with whom he was a great 
favourite, approached him, and slapping him on the 
shoulder, said, ' What are you thinking of, eh ? ' The 
equality and fraternity prevalent in those days among 
the Republicans rendered such a proceeding perfectly 

The sergeant started, and recognising his superior 
officer, pointed to the barrack gates which stood open, 
and permitted the figure of Jean Poyer to be discerned 
almost on the threshold. 

' Look at that fellow,' he exclaimed, in a voice in 
which fear struggled with rage. ' I should like to run 
him through with my bayonet ; better do that and stop 
his further power for mischief, even if I am shot. The 
prospect of being shot is preferable to that of being 
guillotined for saving the girl's life.' 

' What nonsense are you talking ? ' inquired the 
captain. ' You must be cautious how you attack 
patriots like the sailors of the "Aristides." They 
have much power, and can be dangerous if they like.' 

' Ah ! you don't know all, but I will tell you, 
viscount, when I have an opportunity-' 

' Call me captain,' hastily said the officer ; ' you 
know there are no titles now — forget that I was the 
Viscount D'Evreux. It would be an offence in that 

80 Under the Terror. 

sailor's hearing to address me by my title. I cannot 
imagine what has happened to you within the last two 
days. Have you lost your head ? You have not been 
the same man.' 

' I have not yet become quite stupid, but I cannot 
answer for myself if this goes on much longer.' 

' To what do you allude ? ' asked Captain D'Evreux. 

' That rascal's persecution,' replied Pierre. 

' "Why does he persecute you ? ' 

< For saving the young lady's life on the Field of 
Battles two days ago. I will tell you all about it in a 
few words, then you shall judge whether or not the 
mere sight of that man is not enough to make me feel 

Pierre Berbins proceeded to recount the whole adven- 
ture. In the first place he had been told off to accom- 
pany Jean Poyer. Secondly, they encountered a young 
lady who was demanded by Jean. Thirdly, Nicholas 
arrived opportunely, and created a diversion in her 
favour which enabled her to escape, though Pierre was 
no doubt answerable to the public for disobedience of 
orders in the beginning of the affair. 

Captain D'Evreux became more and more thoughtful 
as the sergeant proceeded with his narrative, and Pierre 
fancied it was owing to his sympathy for him, and went 
on, ' You see in what a miserable position I am placed, 
my life is not worth a day's purchase ; ' a tear trembled 
in his eye, and as he dashed it away with the back of 
his hand, a rough voice exclaimed, ' I say, citizen ser- 
geant, how much longer are you going to keep me 
waiting out here. I shall take root and begin to grow 
soon ! ' 

' You hear him, captain ?' said the sergeant. 

* Yes, he wishes to speak to you ; hear what he has 
to say.' 

' But he wishes to denounce me, to drag me to the 

Sergeant Berlins. 81 

guillotine for stepping between him and the life of this 
unlucky aristocrat ! ' 

' Well,' said Captain D'Evreux, ' if that is his in- 
tention, your refusal to see him will make no dif- 

Jean Poyer did not wait any longer for permission to 
enter the barrack yard ; he walked straight in, like a 
man who has businass with some one, and going up to 
the officer, said, in an undertone, ' Is it against orders, 
citizen captain, for a soldier to answer when he is 
spoken to ? ' 

At this mode of address D'Evreux's face expressed 
disgust and indignation, but controlling himself, he 
replied, ' You have served in the navy, citizen sailor, 
and you know that military duties must be attended to.' 

' That's very likely ; yet he might have cried out, 
" Coming presently." ' 

' Very well ; presently,' said D'Evreux, motioning 
him off with impatience. 

Jean Poyer was not to be disposed of so easily ; he 
shrugged his shoulders and clenched his fist, which was 
a sign that he was getting angry. 

' Do you hear me ? ' asked Captain D'Evreux. 

' I hear you fast enough,' answered Jean. 

' In that case be off.' 

' Who is to make me go ? ' said Jean defiantly. 

' Who ? ' repeated the captain, laying his hand on the 
hilt of his sword. 

' Yes,' boldly continued Jean ; ' who dare lay a finger 
upon a patriot of the u Aristides ? "' 

The captain took a step towards the insolent fellow, 
but the sergeant, apprehending serious consequences, 
threw himself between them, crying — 

' Take care what you do, viscount.' 

' Ha ! ha ! ' laughed Jean on hearing this, < have we 
found a nest of aristocrats ? The guillotine is a £ood 

82 Under the Terror. 

eater ; one cannot feed her too much, and her favourite 
food is the peerage.' 

' Away with you/ exclaimed Sergeant Berbins, losing 
his temper. ' Quick march ! go, or I shall have to help 
you with the point of my bayonet. Now then, half 
turn to the right — by your left, march ! ' 

' Oh, it is like that, is it ? ' answered Jean unmoved. 
f You seem to be very courageous since Nicholas begged 
your life from the representative Barras.' 

' What ? ' gasped Berbins, scarcely able to credit the 
good news. 

' It cuts both ways,' continued Jean Poyer. ' Nicho- 
las got your life, and I got Miss Carmelite de Brjssac's. 
She shall not escape me the next time I come across 

' Miss de Brissac,' cried Captain D'Evreux, with an 
air of the most lively interest. * Is all this fuss about 
Miss de Brissac ? ' 

' Do you know her, captain ? ' exclaimed Jean, for- 
getting his habitual Republican insolence. ' If you will 
only tell me where to find her, or, if you don't like to 
betray a friend, just give me a clue to her address, I'll 
follow the track like a sleuth hound, and I will be your 
devoted servant for life. Excuse the way in which I 
speak, I am excited. Tell me where I can find this 
woman, and I will go all over the town with your name 
on my lips, and proclaim you the greatest patriot in the 
whole army.' 

Captain D'Evreux had an opportunity of recovering 
from his first surprise while Jean was talking with 
volubility, and he said to him, with an air of friendly 
familiarity — 

' Do you want to speak to Berbins to find out that ? ' 

' Yes, captain. He ought to know where she is, 
because he saved her,' Jean Poyer answered. 

' But I did not actually save her,' hastily said the 

Seryeant Berbins. 83 

sergeant. ' I only remonstrated with you against taking 
the life of a woman, who certainly did not recognise 
you. It was Nicholas who stepped in between you. 
As a matter of fact I do not know where she lives.' 

< Truly ? ' 

' Truly ! I swear it, by my love for our common 

' Then I must search elsewhere,' said Jean, with a 
crestfallen and dejected air. c I made sure she was 
some friend of yours, or you would never have inter- 

' Stop a moment,' exclaimed the Viscount D'Evreux. 
1 Let us put our heads together, perhaps our united 
efforts may be successful. I, too, want to discover the 
beautiful Carmelite de Brissac' 

' You know her Christian name, do you?' Jean Poyer 
remarked with a suspicious air. 

' Thou seest ! ' replied the captain, affecting the fami- 
liar tutoiment, or ' thoning,' then in vogue. ' Thou 
seest, citizen, that I know the lady.' 

1 And you want to find her ? ' 

' Certainly.' 

' To save her perhaps ? ' 

' Thou insultest me, citizen. When it is a question of 
" shortening" an aristocrat, you will always find me a 
good patriot.' 

Pierre opened his eyes to their fullest extent, but 
receiving a look from his captain, he cried, ' The 
captain is right ; may I be shot if I know what in- 
fluenced me in interesting myself on behalf of this 
aristocrat. I go for the Republic, one and indivisible, 
or death. It is my duty. I have taken an oath to that 
effect, and I mean to keep it.' 

The Viscount D'Evreux shrugged his shoulders, and 
exclaimed, i Citizen sailor, we seem to be agreed in this 
matter : will you do me the pleasure to ascend to my 

G 2 

84 Under the Terror. 

chamber with the sergeant ? You can tell us why you 
hunt down Miss de Brissac, and we will combine our 
efforts to find her.' 

' That's right enough,' said Jean. 

' And as nothing makes one's throat so dry as talk- 
ing, do you, sergeant, send up to my room half-a-dozen 
bottles of wine.' 

' And a bottle of brandy,' put in the sailor. 

' Do you like brandy ? ' asked the captain. 

' Yes, after drinking wine, a glass or two of brandy 
makes one sober.' 

The sailor and the captain ascended the stairs of the 
officer's quarters together ; Pierre soon rejoined them 
with the wine and brandy. The fire was made up, and 
they all three drew their chairs near the table, on which 
stood the uncorked bottles. 




' As you know Miss de Brissac,' began the sailor, ( I 
need not tell you that her family lived in Brest, which 
is also my native town. I began my naval career 
under the ex-kino;. The Baron de Brissac commanded 
my ship. I love the sea, and was a good sailor, but I 
did not like the aristocrat De Brissac. The regulations 
of the service were very strict, and, knowing the conse- 
quences of mutinous conduct, I put up with many 
slights, indignities, and injustice, though much against 
my will. Soon after our captain's daughter was born, 
he became furiously jealous of his wife. She bore him 
a son, and he effected a separation. His temper be- 
came worse than ever, and we had to suffer for his 
domestic unhappiness. Never did a crew put up with 
a greater martinet. When his daughter was four years 
old he took her on board with her nurse. We set sail 
with them. This was contrary to orders, but the 
authorities took no notice of it. Every one knew that 
the baron thought that his wife had been unfaithful 
to him, and, in fact, an aristocrat could do what he liked 
in those days. Live the Republic ! ' 

Jean emptied his glass, filled it, and emptied it 

' Ah,' said M. D'Evreux, ' I begin to see the cause 
of your hatred to Miss de Brissac' 

' My hatred for Miss de Brissac ? ' repeated Jean ; 
1 1 don't hate her, it is her father I would exterminate.' 

86 Under the Terror. 

' But, not being able to revenge yourself upon him, 
you determine to condemn the daughter to death ? ' in- 
quired D'Evreux. 

' Exactly. The old rascal is in England, but he will 
learn that his old sailor, Jean Poyer, has caused his 
favourite child to be executed. He loves her so much 
that this will be a severe blow to him. He would 
rather die himself than any harm should befall her.' 

D'Evreux elevated his eyebrows as if in surprise, and 
the Bas-Breton continued — 

' I assure you, for this voyage, the captain was like a 
wild beast. If one committed the least fault it was 
followed by the most terrible punishments, He did not 
seem to sleep, he was always on deck, running about 
here, and poking his nose there, like a poisoned rat. 
We resembled cattle. He took no more heed of us 
than if we had been beasts of the field. But one day a 
change took place, and this is how it happened. I was 
leaning against a gun, kicking my heels, and thinking 
that Miss Carmelite's nurse was uncommonly pretty. 
She was from Brittany, you know, and they are fine 
women all about there. Suddenly I felt a blow on the 
back, which sent me staggering some distance. I 
turned round with a bound, my fists clenched like bolts 
of iron. It was the captain. 

' " What have you to say ? " he asked, regarding me 

' I was half out of my mind, and, thinking of nothing 
so much as what the whole ship's company had to put 
up with, replied — 

' " If your wife, has made a fool of you, it is no reason 
why you should revenge 3-ourself upon a sailor." ' 

' You said that ? ' cried Viscount D'Evreux, as if all 
his gentleman's pride and vanity was interested in the 
injury given to another gentleman, for at this moment 
it was not the Republican captain who hob-nobbed with 

The Sailors Story. 87 

the citizen sailor, so much as it was the nobleman who 
tolerated the boor. ' You said that, and he did not 
either throw vou overboard, or run his sword through 
your body ! ' 

Perhaps this remark recalled Jean to the old rule, 
for he answered, ' Directly I had spoken, I expected 
either one or the other. He became pale, looking at me 
with eyes that glowed like red-hot coals. I began to be 
afraid ! but it passed away. 

i " You are right, Jean," he said, "you were not in 

•' Then he went below and did not come on deck any 
more the whole day ; after this he became a different 
man, or rather the man he was before, cold and severe, 
capricious perhaps, but not an intolerable tyrant. He 
never found fault with me, and the first lieutenant was 
equally kind ; my shipmates congratulated me on my 
pluck and my good fortune, and one night I heard our 
chaplain say to the first lieutenant — our chaplain was 
the Abbe d'Arvilliers- ' 

' D'Arvilliers ! ' cried the viscount, interrupting the 
recital again. ' John, the present bishop of that name ? ' 

' The same, he was a relation of Miss de Brissac's.' 

' And consequently of Carmelite, I mean of the cap- 
tain's daughter ? ' 

' Precisely ; do you know him also ? ' asked Jean, 
bending his gaze critically on the captain. 

' Only by name ; he was condemned to death by the 
revolutionary tribunal at Nantes, and I believe escaped 
with other " emigrants " to Coblentz.' 

' That's him,' answered Jean. 

' "Well, what did he say to the first officer? ' 

' '•' It seems to me," he observed, " that the remark of 
this sailor has had as great an effect upon the captain 
as if a voice had spoken to him out of a cloud. It was 
more powerful than all my exhortations ; just a few 

88 Under the Terror. 

words of truth spoken at random have recalled him to 
himself." ' 

' You will see that I had not done any harm by 
speaking as I did. Every one applauded me. We were 
all better treated. Everything went as if on wheels. 
I suspected nothing, but that fellow Nicholas, who was 
one of my shipmates, always kept on saying, " Look 
out for squalls, Jean." ' 

' The same who fought with you the other day ? ' 
asked Pierre Berbins. 

' That is the identical one ; he was then Captain de 
Brissac's cabin boy and high in his master's favour.' 

' Did he recognise Miss de Brissac that day on the 
Field of Battles ? ' inquired D'Evreux. 

' No. I was particularly careful not to mention her 
name before him. He left the frigate when he was 
fourteen, and she was then a child of four and a-half, 
or thereabouts, so that he had very little chance of 
knowing her again.' 

Captain D'Evreux remarked with pleasure that the 
sailor applied himself quite as diligently to the task of 
emptying the bottles, as he did to the recital of his 

' I tell you,' continued Jean, ' that I was as happy as 
a fish in the sea, doing almost as I liked, and making 
love to Mariole, the nurse of Miss de Brissac. She 
gave me every encouragement, and I dreamt of marry- 
ing her if she would have me. I fancied that she was 
madly in love with me, as I certainby was with her, 
and we made each other little presents. I gave her a 
cross of gold which had belonged to my mother, and 
she presented me with half a dozen handkerchiefs of 
real silk. Well, one morning there was a terrible row 
in the ship ; a robbery, they said, had been committed. 
The staff assembled, and an inquiry was made. They 
went all over the ship ; they searched the chests and 

The Sailor's Story. 89 

the bunks of the seamen. I was struck dumb with 
surprise when I heard what they said after going to 

* " The thief is discovered. It is Jean Poyer." 

' " "Who called me a thief? " I cried. 

' " I," answered the officer in the command ; 
" Mariole has declared that half a dozen silk hand- 
kerchiefs have been stolen from the captain's cabin, and 
here they are in your chest." 

' You might have knocked me down with a feather. 
I saw it all now, but putting a bold face on the matter 
I struggled to believe in Mariole's honesty. 

' " It is not true. She could not say that ! " I ex- 

' " We shall see ; put him in irons," answered the 

' For three days I was kept upon bread and water, 
and I had ample time to reflect upon my position. It 
seemed incredible that Mariole, my Mariole, whom I 
had fondly hoped to make my wife, and with whom I 
was madly in love, could have betrayed me ; yet, what 
other conclusion could I come to. The time came 
when I was brought before the court-martial. Nicholas 
laughed at me as I descended the hatchway leading to the 
captain's cabin. Then I began to suspect that Captain 
de Brissac had laid a trap for me, and the boy knew it 
all along. I at once told the court that I believed I 
was the victim of the captain's vengeance. I said that 
I had alluded to his wife's infidelity, and therefore 
he hated me in secret. The president bade me be 
silent. Mariole gave her evidence weeping, but she 
said that she did not gi i e me the silk handkerchiefs. 
My messmates had seen me leave my hammock in the 
night to speak to Mariole ; as for Nicholas, the little 
scamp said he knew nothing at all. The end of it was 
that I was condemned to run the gauntlet and to ten 


90 Under the Terror. 

years at the galleys. Any other man would have died 
under the first punishment, for they did not spare me ; 
the rascals hit with all their might. I ran the broad- 
side of the whole crew six times, but I had that within 
which sustained me. It was the hope of vengeance ; I 
swore that I Avould live to be revenged upon Captain 
De Brissac. I was certain that he had induced Mariole to 
accuse me. Far from forgetting or forgiving the insult 
that I had given him, he treasured it up in his heart, 
and obtained a punishment for me infinitely more 
severe than any he, in his capacity, could inflict. 
When they sent me from the ship I was a living sore, 
from the hurts they had given me while running the 
gauntlet ; nevertheless I served my ten years. You 
have never been in a convict prison and cannot imagine 
the misery I have undergone. Instead of killing one 
aristocrat it is a wonder I did not insist upon slaughter- 
ing a hundred. What made my punishment the 
more irksome was the knowledge that I did not deserve 
it. A man who plans and perpetrates a robbery calcu- 
lates the possible jjrofit and the ultimate risk. If he 
fails he has not much to grumble at ; with me it was 
different. Captain De Brissac, directly after the court- 
martial, transferred Nicholas to another ship and sent 
his child on shore, giving her into the care of his relative 
Miss D'Arvilliers, the sister of our chaplain, who lives 
at Orient, where she was brought up and educated. I 
am informed that she had been sent here to rejoin her 
father, who was in the roadstead of Toulon, and who 
was one of the wretches who gave up the fleet to the 
English, and he fled when your troops entered the town.' 

' Did he go alone ? ' asked Captain D'Evreux. 

' I cannot tell. Some say that the bishop has gone 
to Coblentz with the other emigrants, as I told you 
just now, and others declare that De Brissac and 
D'Arvilliers are together.' 

The Sailors Story. 91 

' Then why did not Miss De Brissac go with her 
father ? ' 

' That,' answered Jean Poj'er, ' is what I cannot tell 
vera. All I know for certain is, they were seen to- 
gether in Toulon, and the day we took possession of the 
town they escaped. A friend of mine assisted them, 
and informed me that he was to be paid for doing so. 
He heard their conversation, and told me, because he 
knew that I owed all my misfortunes to a De Brissac. 
They had a firm hope that the daughter was safe, and 
would come overland to a port near England and join 
them in that country. This course they imagined to 
be safer than taking her with him in a frail bark, more 
especially as she had influential friends in Toulon. So 
you see that though the father has escaped me, I can 
still put my hand on the daughter.' 

• That seems fair enough,' answered D'Evreux, ' but 
how are you to catch her ? You know Toulon well, I 
suppose — have you any idea of a place where she is 
likely to hide ? ' 

' If I had any idea I shouldn't want your assistance,' 
replied Jean, helping himself again and again, and be- 
ginning to stutter in his speech. 

■' Of course, yet if you will tell us the quarters you 
have searched, we will try other directions.' 

• I have been everywhere.' 

: Everywhere ? even in the lowest streets of the 
town ? ' 

1 AVhat's the use of looking in low streets for Miss De 
Brissac ? ' replied Jean with a drunken laugh ; ' she 
wouldn't go into the lowest part of the town, not she.' 

' You are right again,' said D'Evreux, with a 
peculiar smile ; ' wait till to-morrow, and I will promise 
you on the word of a Republican to do all I can to find 


That s settled,' answered Jean Poyer, finishing the 

92 Under the Terror. 

bottle of brandy. l Let it rest there. You are good 
patriots. Hurrah for the Republic ! — one, and in- 
divisible — that or death ! ' 

His head soon fell upon his hands, which were 
already placed upon the table, and, after muttering a 
few incoherent words, he began to snore with a certain 
amount of regularity and profundity. 




When Captain D'Evreux was satisfied that the sailor 
had cast anchor, he made a sign to his sergeant, and 
they quitted the room together. 

' What next ? ' said Berbins, addressing the captain 
when they were outside. 

' We must save this young lady/ answered D'Evreux. 

' 1 could see that was your idea from the first, but in 
order to do so, we must know where she is.' 

' I can tell you. She is in the sailors' quarter, in 
one of the worst streets of the town, where no one 
would think of looking for her. The sailor is mistaken 
in supposing that the bishop has escaped to Coblentz. 
Baron De Brissac and he are together, and will shortly, 
I trust, reach England in safety. I have been in con- 
stant communication with Miss De Brissac, and did not 
imagine that she was in any immediate danger. The 
discovery I have just made is fortunate, for I will take 
instant steps to protect her.' 

' The sailor is terribly incensed against her father, 
and will not spare her on any account,' remarked the 

' I can see that he has brooded over his revenge.' 

' He was unjustly accused and has been wronged. 
Ten years at the galleys for an imaginary crime would 
sour any man's temper.' 

' Yes,' said D'Evreux, thoughtfully. ' The aristo- 

94 Under the Terror. 

cracy abused their power shamefully, and they are now 
reaping the harvest they sowed.' 

' You can command me,' continued Pierre, ' only 
tell me what you wish me to do. ' 

' Keep this Jean Poyer in my room until I return. 
I am going to see Miss De Brissac, and assure myself 
that she is safe and comfortable,' replied the young 

He took a few steps towards the staircase and sud- 
denly stopped. 

'I have changed my mind,' he continued ; ' you shall 
go to Miss De Brissac for me. I will guard this 
drunken fellow.' 

He hastily scribbled the address of the house in which 
Miss Carmelite was staying on a scrap of paper, which 
he handed to Pierre. 

i Are you afraid I should chatter ? ' asked the latter, 
with a reproachful glance. 

' No. I am satisfied that my secret is safe with you, 
but it is better for a sergeant to enter such a house, 
than an officer in uniform. My presence there in day- 
light might excite suspicion ; at all events it would give 
rise to remark, and there are spies about.' 
' Who am I to ask for ? ' 

' Louise Feron, at the address I have given you. 
Assure Miss De Brissac that all goes well ; her friends 
are watching over her. As soon as possible, efforts 
will be made to get her into Germany.' 

' I will go,' said the sergeant, ' though we are play- 
ing with edged tools. I hope no evil will come of it 
for either of us, captain.' 

The soldier departed, and the captain remained 
motionless on the landing for some little time wrapped 
in thought. Then he re-entered his room, and found 
the sailor snoring in a manner anything but melodious. 
Presently he began to arrange some clothes and other 

Captain U Evreiuif s Secret. 95 

articles in a portmanteau, as if preparing for instant 
flight, should it be necessary- In a drawer was a purse 
full of gold ; he distributed the pieces in various pockets. 
While he was thus engaged Pierre re-entered, and at 
once saw his design. 

' Pardon me, viscount,' he said, in a rough manner, 
' I can see what is in your mind. You intend to fly 
with Miss De Brissac, and as forme, if all is discovered, 
I may be left for the guillotine.' 

' What has put that idea in your head ? ' asked 
A^iscount D'Evreux, uneasily. 

' Circumstances have forced you to accept a commis- 
sion in the Republican army, but your heart is not with 
us. You are noble, and your sympathies are with the 
aristocrats and the emigrants. I am a peasant and a 
true patriot. It is different with you. I will, how- 
ever, place no obstacle in your way. You are right to 
be watchful, if you would save the unhappy lady in 
whom we both take an interest. She is in danger at 
this moment, for the other sailor has found her out. 

' Which other ? ' asked D'Evreux, in great conster- 

' Nicholas.' 

At the mention of this name, Jean Poyer started and 
moved uneasily. It must have had a strange attraction 
for him, as Pierre spoke in a low voice. 

' Where is Nicholas ? ' he cried, sitting up. 

Looking around him, he only saw the captain and 
the sergeant, and leant back in his chair. 

' Who spoke of Nicholas ? What has he done now ? ' 
he continued. 

' He is boasting that he will save the aristocrat,' 
answered the sergeant. 

' Oh ! he says so, does he ? ' replied Jean. ' I must 
find the rascal out and exterminate him ; he should not 

96 Under the Terror. 

He rose and endeavoured to walk to the door, stag- 
gering against the wall as he did so. 

' That will not be difficult/ Pierre went on, for I left 
him at the first cabarat on the quay ; he was saying that 
he had beaten you in fair fight, and added that you should 
not kick a dog without his permission. 

These words excited Jean to the pitch of desperation ; 
he rushed to the door, and Pierre, making a sign to the 
captain, assisted him down stairs, across the barrack 
yard, and through the gate, and had the satisfaction of 
seeing him go away with an unsteady gait, vowing 
vengeance against his enemy Nicholas. 

When the sergeant returned, D'Evreux said, ' Why 
did you enrage him against Nicholas ? ' 

' In the first place, I thought it advisable to get rid of 
him. I have not seen Nicholas, so if they meet it will 
be by accident : as for that, if they killed one another, 
it would be no great misfortune. Secondly, — ' 

' Tell me about Miss De Brissac,' interrupted the 
captain, impatiently. 

' She recognised and thanked me warmly for Avhat I 
had clone for her on the Field of Battles,' answered the 
sergeant, ' and made many kind enquiries after you. It 
is evident with whom she is in love.' 

' How was she discovered ?' enquired D'Evreux, turn- 
ing away his face, which grew flushed. 

'Nicholas was strolling along the street and saw her 
at a window to which she had imprudently ventured. 
He immediately cried out, ' There is the aristocrat, Jean 
Poyer would give something to see her. It would be 
look out for the Magdalene. He seemed to make a 
note of the address, and as she shrank back from the 
window she saw him go on his way chuckling to himself 
as^if he had made a great discovery, which pleased him 

' How long is this ago ! ' 

Captain D'Evreuz's Secret. 97 

' About a couple of hours. Miss de Brissac is in a 
terrible fright, and begged me to ask you to visit her 
as soon as possible, for she thinks her life is not safe.' 

' AVe must find another lodging for her at once,' said 
D'Evreux, shortly. 

' I should not think she would be at all sorry to get 
out of the horrible neighbourhood in which she is. The 
landlady lets her have her room to herself, and she is not 
disturbed ; yet the language she must hear in the street 
is dreadful for a young lady born and educated as she 
has been.' 

' You are right there,' answered the captain, grating 
his teeth together harshly. 

' Your pardon, viscount,' said Pierre, after a pause ; 
'we have no time to lose ! ' 

' Thank you for recalling me to myself,' replied 
D'Evreux. ' The misery this unfortunate girl has had 
to put up with distracts me. I need not tell you that 
I love her, and I have every reason to believe that she is 
as fondly attached to me as I am to her.' 

' I believe that,' cried Pierre Berbins. 

' I have known her and her family for some years 
now. Indeed, we were acquainted in happier times, 
when we laughed at Lafayette and Mirabeau, and never 
dreampt of the murder of the king, nor the capture 
of the Bastille. A more amiable, good, virtuous and 
accomplished girl never breathed.' 

' It is sad to think that her life should be endangered, 
because her father abused his power, and acted tyranni- 
cally. We must not underrate the danger she runs, and 
I will tell you in what way. At present Jean Poyer and 
Nicholas are at enmity, but drunken, dissolute fellows, 
such as they are, may make up their difference in the 
first cabaret in which they meet ; suppose they shake 
hands, suppose they exchange confidences, and Nicho- 
las tells the other where to find Miss de Brissac. The 


98 Under the Terror. 

peril is pressing. Come with me and let us do the best 
we can without any further delay. 

They quitted the barracks at once and walked quickly 
along. The captain stopped before a house where 
apartments were to be let. It was nicely situated, and 
in a respectable street. 

' Go in and take lodgings for Miss de Brissac in her 
own name,' exclaimed D'Evreux, giving the sergeant 
some money. ' Pay in advance and select rooms at the 
back of the house, for a woman left by herself all day 
grows tired and will look into the street. Wait here 
till I come back, I will go and fetch Carmelite.' 

Sergeant Berbins did as he was told. The people of 
the house willingly let the room, and received payment 
in advance. The sergeant bought a few necessary 
articles of grocery, and in half an hour D'Evreux 
returned, leading Miss de Brissac thickly veiled and 
leaning heavily on bis arm, as if for protection and 
support. Berbins waited outside the door until 
D'Evreux sought him. 

' All is well so far,' said the captain. ' I have to 
thank you for your zeal. Co back to barracks, and if 
I am inquired for say I shall probably not be in to- 
night. ' 

' Then you intend — that is you hope — ? ' 

1 This very night,' said the captain. ' I cannot leave 
her by herself. If I can get a boat and a couple of 
men about midnight.' 

' I see,' exclaimed Berbins, ' you need not say any- 
thing more, captain, I wish you success. Think 
sometimes of the sergeant who risked so much for 
you. May you both be happy.' 

Viscount D'Evreux wrung the honest fellow's hand 
and he took his departure for the barracks. 

The night was stormy, and rain fell at intervals. At 
ten o'clock the next morning, the captain had not made 

Captain U Evreux' s Secret. 99 

his appearance, and Serjeant Berbins came to the con- 
clusion that he had found means to quit Toulon, and 
had effected his escape with Miss Carmelite de Brissac, 
with success. 

Half-an-hour later, to his astonishment, he saw the 
viscount crossing the yard. He made a sign — Pierre 
Berbins was by his side instantly, but D'Evreux did 
not speak. He led the way to the officers' quarters, 
and when they had gained his room he closed the 
door carefully. 

' What has happened ? ' asked Pierre, whose curiosity 
was stimulated to its highest extent. 

' An order was issued yesterday evening, signed by 
Barras, that no boat was, on any account, to be suffered 
to leave the harbour without a permit.' 

' That is bad,' said the sergeant gnawing his thumb. 

' I passed the whole night in looking for fishermen 
or sailors whom a bribe would induce to venture to 
put to sea. I could not find one ; at last I was regarded 
with considerable suspicion, and to make the matter 
worse, this morning I met Nicholas and Jean Poyer, 
ai'm-in-arm together.' 

' Worse and worse ! ' cried Pierre Berbins. 

' They are furious against you, if I may judge from 
what they let fall as they walked past. Jean did not 
find Nicholas at the cabaret you mentioned, and he 
thinks you were making fun of him ; Nicholas has been 
again to Miss de Brissac's late lodging, and is much 
annoyed to find her gone ; everything looks as black as 
possible for us. The aspect of affairs could not be more 

Berbins groaned in anguish of spirit, he already saw 
three heads in the basket of the guillotine — his own, 
D'Evreux's, and Carmelite's. 

' I can see nothing for it, but to go at once to Barras,' 
continued D'Evreux. 


100 Under the Terror. 

( To him I to the representative of the people ! to 
Barras,' cried Berbins in astonishment. 

1 Yes ! to the fountain head. I have hit upon a 
scheme which will I think be successful ; desperate 
diseases require desperate remedies. Those ruffians 
must be baulked of their prey. If they find Miss de 
Bn'ssac she will be executed, nothing can save her ; we 
must act at once, am I not right ? ' 

' Perfectly, but how to proceed ? ' 

« I will tell you.' 

The captain and his sergeant looked earnestly at one 




i As Nicholas knows where Miss cle Brissac was con- 
cealed,' the Captain D'Evreux went on, 'he has but 
to make inquiries at the lodging-house, to find that she 
left in my company. That will give a clue which will 
probably lead to her discovery. We are all in dan- 
ger ' 

' But Barras has given the lady's life to Jean,' said 
the sergeant. 

1 Yes, and yours to Nicholas ! No matter ! I will 
represent to him how odious it is for this sailor to 
pursue her as he does. In fact, I have my plan, await 
my return. I go to Barras.' 

Leaving Berbins in amaze, D'Evreux sought an 
interview Avith the representative of the people, one of 
whose distinguishing; characteristics was a clear and 
vigorous memory for even the minutest details. 

No sooner did the captain mention the name of Miss 
de Brissac, than he recollected the whole affair, and 
agreed with D'Evreux that Jean Poyer's behaviour 
was to be strongly condemned. 

' But what will you have, citizen captain ? ' he con- 
tinued. ' He is a good patriot, and she belongs to a 
proscribed family. She is an aristocrat — her father is 
a traitor to the republic' 

' I have come more on behalf of the sergeant Ber- 
bins, who is in my company, than for the lady herself,' 
remarked D'Evreux. 

102 Under the Terror. 

1 What interest can the soldier take in her ? ' asked 

' I believe he is in love with her.' 

' That may be, yet it is unpardonable for a soldier to 
screen an aristocrat. I fear they ought both to be sent 
to the guillotine,' said the representative of the people 
with a frown. 

1 But suppose, citizen,' replied D'Evreux, 'that she 
loses the taint of the aristocracy which at present clings 
to her and proves herself a good patriot by marrying a 
republican soldier ? ' 

( To that I have no objection,' Barras replied. ' It 
is a good way of solving the difficulty and saving the 
life of a good soldier. I will consider the matter as 
settled. Let Miss de Brissac marry Sergeant Berbins 
in four and twenty hours and their lives shall be saved.' 

* In spite of the patriots of the " Aristides." ' 

I You have my word, citizen, it is enough,' said 
Barras, waving his hand to intimate that the interview 
was over. 

Captain the Viscount D'Evreux hastened back to the 
barracks, and recounted the conversation which had 
taken place between himself and the representative of 
people to Berbins, who, if he was amazed before, was 
now literally astounded. 

i Marry me ! ' cried the sergeant ; ' Miss de Brissac 
marry a man in my position when she is already en- 
gaged to you ? ' 

' I don't mean seriously that she is to marry you,' 
answered D'Evreux, with an angry glance. ' Have 
you taken leave of your senses ? ' 

I I believe I have within the last five minutes,' the 
sergeant replied. 

' Listen to me. To marry Miss de Brissac is merely 
a subterfuge to save her. I can devise no other means, 
can you ? ' 

TJie Marriage with Carmelite. 103 

' No,' said Berbins, with a melancholy shake of the 

' Would you consign her to the guillotine — would 
you consign the three of us ? If you can suggest any- 
thing- better, I will be guided by you.' 

Captain D'Evreux looked at him, but he remained 

' She will be your wife. I will undertake to gain 
her consent to that, though you will see nothing of her 
after she leaves the church, and you quit her side at 
the door of her lodgings. No one can demand the 
head of the citojjeime, Berbins, the wife of the brave 
patriot, Pierre Berbins. In a few days I hope to be 
able to fly with her to Germany, and you will have no 
difficulty in octaining a divorce, which every one will 
say is your right.' 

• But consider.' 

' \Vhat ? ' anxiously asked D'Evreux. 

' tShall I not cover myself with a shame, which to 
me has no real existence, but to the world at large, who 
do not know our arrangement.' 

' Ridiculous scruple ! ' 

' I think not. When I do really marry, my wife will 
of course hear all about my first marriage. She will 
say his first wife deceived him and eloped with an 
officer ; that is what it comes to, and perhaps the 
second may follow the example of the first.' 

Captain D'Evreux bit his lips and appeared much 

' She shall go away to Germany by herself; I will 
follow afterwards,' he said, suddenly. 

' That is better ; yet ' 

' Say no more ! ' cried the captain, angrily ; ' we 
will take our chance of the guillotine, from which you 
have no more chance of escaping than we, though I did 
expect that you would oblige me in this instance.' 

104 Under the Terror. 

' An authorisation is necessary for a soldier to 
marry,' said Berbins, still doubtful. 

' Barras is to send it to my quarters. There will be 
no difficulty about the ceremony. Consent, my dear 
Berbins, and you will find us eternally grateful ; you 
commenced the good work by saving Miss de Brissac 
from Jean Poyer ; end it by saving her a second time. 
Jean is as merciless as a tiger, and your life is in the 
hands of Nicholas, who will be equally pitiless.' 

' I consent,' answered Sergeant Berbins ; ' after all 
it is a good action and must bring its reward. Ar- 
range everything as you wish it, I will obey you as if 
on parade, captain.' 

D'Evreux shook his hand heartily. 

' You are a fine fellow,' he said, ' come with me. 
We must see Miss de Brissac at once, and make the 
necessary arrangements for the marriage.' 

A short walk brought them to Carmelite's lodgings. 
She threw herself into her lover's arms and imprinted 
a kiss upon his lips. 

' You have come at last,' she said, with a sigh. 
' Oh, if you knew how long the time is while I am 
alone ! all is so dreary, so blank, so hopeless ! Ah ! ' 
she started on beholding Berbins, ' you have a stranger 
with you.' 

1 Not quite a stranger,' replied the captain, with a 

' Oh, no ; it is my deliverer ! I am glad you have 
brought him with you. It is everything to have a 
friend on whom you can rely in these dreadful times. 
Will you not sit down, my friend ? we have no secrets 
that you may not hear.' 

' He will take care of himself, Carmelite,' said 
D'Evreux; ' hear what I have to tell you.' 

He related his interview with Barras and the scheme 
for her deliverance and ultimate safety, which they had 

The Marriage with Carmelite. 105 

adopted. When she had heard all, she went to Pierre, 
covered with blushes, but radiant with hope, thinking 
that her perils were over now. 

' "Will you really do this for me ? ' she continued, in 
sweet confusion. ' How good of you — how can I ever 
thank you ! I shall indeed have one regret, and that is, 
I am already engaged, and that my heart cannot go 
with my hand. It is seldom one meets with so dis- 
interested and generous a man as you have shown your- 
self to be.' 

Pierre tried to find a suitable answer for the lovely 
girl , but failed signally, and could only wipe a tear from 
his eye. 

' Happier days are in store for France, I firmly 
believe,' exclaimed D'Evreux, ' and then Ave will think 
of Berbins. In the meantime, as far as money goes, 
I ' 

' I want no pay,' interrupted the sergeant, finding 
his tongue. ' I am sufficiently rewarded by the kind 
way in which Miss Carmelite speaks ; and now the 
matter being settled, viscount, I will await your further 
orders in barracks.' 

He saluted and retired, having the delicacy to leave 
the lovers together. 

Carmelite de Brissac saw the necessity for the plan 
to be adopted. She did not hesitate to place herself in 
the power of a soldier in a marching regiment, to save 
her life. She believed in his honour and his devotion 
to his superior officer, and freely allowed D'Evreux to 
make any preparations he pleased. 

She looked forward to being in a few days on the 
road to Spain or Germany, where her lover would join 
her, and in a month at the latest she expected to be with 
her father and the Bishop D'Arvilliers, and to see such 
of her friends as had escaped the fury of the Republi- 
cans, and the murderous edge of the guillotine. 

106 Under the Terror. 

In 1793, in a town like Toulon, which had just been 
taken possession of by a section of the national 
army, military force, to some extent, superseded 
civil rule. 

There was nothing very extraordinary in permission 
being given by one of the proconsuls of the convention 
to a Republican soldier to marry a lady of rank whose 
father had fled. It was considered a very proper chas- 
tisement, one calculated to reduce her pride, and prove 
to her the efficacy of equality. 

During the day the marriage was registered at the 
office of the municipality, and Miss Carmelite de 
Brissac became legally the wife of Pierre Berbins. 

The religious ceremony followed early in the morning 
of the next day. As Pierre stood by Carmelite's side 
in the church, he thought he had never seen so pretty 
and engaging a girl as his pretended wife ; he began to 
wish, in fact, that she was his in reality. The dawn of 
love broke in his heart — a love which he felt was dis- 
graceful to him, and which he must check at all hazards. 
Still it existed, and he wondered he had not suspected 
its existence before. 

When he left the church, with her still by his side 
for the sake of appearance, he would have given ten 
years of his life for one kiss from the lips of the woman 
who was by law his wife. She was pale and pre- occu- 
pied, but neither tearful or melancholy. She did not 
speak as they walked back to the lodgings where 
Captain D'Evreux was awaiting her coming. Yet 
Berbins knew she was happy in the prospect of the 
future and he was satisfied. At the door he made a 
respectful bow, and said, though his voice trembled 
slightly — 

' I have the honour to wish you good-day, miss.' 

' Thank you very, very much,' answered Carmelite, 

The Marriage icith Carmelite. 107 

She extended her hand, he grasped it, he raised it to 
his lips, and the next instant, turning round, he was 
walking stiffly back to barracks, as if with his company 
on parade. 

And this was how Miss Carmelite de Brissac was 




Some days elapsed and Carmelite saw nothing of her 
husband. She began to grow alarmed. It had been 
arranged between them that he should make prepara- 
tions immediately for their flight to Coblentz, where 
numerous proscribed friends of theirs had taken refuge; 
he would have, in adopting this step, to give up his 
position in the French army, but his sentiments had 
never been with the Republicans. He was a loyalist 
and an aristocrat, having served with the army in 
order to preserve his life, so that he was at heart glad 
of a chance to escape from a state of things of which he 

On the evening of the third day she received a visit 
from Pierre Berbins. 

' You have come from the viscount ! ' she exclaimed, 
seizing; his hand. 

' Alas ! no, miss,' he answered. 

His face was very grave, and her heart sank within 
her as she read there evil tidings. 

' If anything has happened, I implore you to tell me 
at once,' she continued ; ' anything is preferable to this 

' It is best that she should know it,' remarked the 
sergeant as if speaking to himself. 

' Oh, yes. I am brave. See, I am strong and 
calm,' said the heroic girl, striving to appear so. 

' The Viscount D'Evreux is dead,' exclaimed Ser- 
geant Berbins. 

Darkest Hour just before Dawn. 109' 

' Dead ! Oh, heaven pity me ! ' cried Carmelite, 
sinking back into a chair, pale as a ghost, and trem- 
bling violently all over. 

Berbins thought she was going to swoon, but she 
did not faint, her agony was too acute for that ; she 
waited to hear more. 

' He was denounced as an aristocrat by Jean Poyer, 
the sailor of the " Aristides." Letters from your 
father and the able D'Arvilliers were found upon him, 
and after a lengthened trial he was condemned and shot 
as a traitor to the Republic' 

'This is dreadful,' murmured Carmelite. 'Dead? 
D'Evreux dead ? What charms has life for me ? ' 

Seeing that she was overwhelmed with grief, the 
sergeant did not speak for some time. 

1 Did he send no message to me ? ' she asked. 

' His last words were of you,' answered the sergeant. 

< Tell me them.' 

' He said, " Berbins, give her my undying love, and 
add that it is my wish that she should try to become a 
Eepublican. The days of monarchy and aristocracy 
are gone for ever. She will live safely if she decides 
upon being in reality your wife as she is already 
legally This is my last wish. You are my friend. I 
should like my Carmelite to be my friend's wife." ' 

' He said that ? ' cried Carmelite. 

1 Truly.' 

' And you have the insolence to repeat such a pro- 
posal to me. Monsieur, the blood of all the Brissacs 
rises up in my veins and forbids such a profanation. 
You may lead me to the scaffold. I will go to death as 
bravely as did the Viscount D'Evreux, for let me tell 
you that I infinitely prefer death to dishonour.' 

>She was superior to her grief as she said this, and 
stood like Niobe all tears, but yet firm and resolved. 

Sergeant Berbins shrank back in affright. Her 

110 Under the Terror. 

grandeur subdued him, but at the same time excited 
his admiration and stimulated his passion, for in reality 
he had conceived a sincere and maddening love for the 
beautiful girl. 

' Pardon me, ma'm'selle,' he stammered. 

' Monsieur, I cannot pardon you,' she replied with 
dignity. ' If my beloved friend in his last moments so 
far forgot himself and what was owing to me as to en- 
trust such a message to you, I am sorry. When the 
angel of death is hovering over us, our minds may not 
be so strong as at other times, but for you there is no 
excuse, no pardon. You come here soberly and ration- 
ally to insult me, and at the supreme moment of my 

' But if ma'am'selle will consider ' 

' I have done so, monsieur, and you have unparclon- 
ably offended me ; I tell you so plainly, whatever the 
consequences of your resentment may be. Go, if you 
please — lea> r e me ! ' 

' Have I no right here ? ' demanded the sergeant, 
becoming braver. 

' Oh, monsieur,' exclaimed Carmelite, with a smile 
which, in its satiric force, cut him to the quick, ' if 
you presume upon your strength and your legal position 
to insult me still further, I have only one thing to sav.' 

' And that is— ? ' 

' I have concealed in the body of my dress a poignard 
and with that I am prepared to protect my honour.' 

Berbins was completely baffled. He fell back and 
knew not what to say. 

Seeing her advantage, Carmelite continued, ' What I 
should have expected from a man who has, up to this 
day, behaved as you have done, is far different from 
what has occurred.' 

' Will mademoiselle be good enough to explain ? ' 
said the sergeant. 

Darkest Hour just before Dawn. Ill 

' You should now offer to conduct me through your 
lines, and place before me the means of reaching Ger- 
many. To you the task would not be difficult.' 

' Your object in going to Germany ? ' 

i Monsieur is impertinent.' 

1 Not at nil. Believe me, more depends upon your 
answer than you imagine. I beg mademoiselle to in- 
form me.' 

' My life is blighted,' said Carmelite, the tears again 
starting to her eyes ; ' I wish to place myself with my 
friends, and so communicate with my relations. Then 
I shall enter a convent, and end my days in the service 
of my Creator. Is monsieur satisfied ? ' 

' Perfectly. I entreat your forgiveness. You shall 
not be mistaken in me. Be pleased to dress yourself, 
and I will at once conduct you beyond our lines, and — 
and all will be well.' 

Sergeant Berbins spoke with difficulty, but Carmelite 
was only too glad of the opportunity of escaping. She 
took him at his word, not noticing his confusion, or 
suspecting that anything was concealed under his 
manner. In a short time she was dressed and ready 
for the journey. She had money. Berbins was over- 
whelmed by her with thanks and protestations of grati- 
tude, but he only smiled grimly, and appeared to 
resemble a man who is experiencing the pleasure of 
doins a good action. 

They walked through the town without molestation, 
not even taking the trouble to pursue the bye streets. 
In a frequented thoroughfare they met Jean Poyer, 
who, grating his teeth, said, ' There goes the citizen 
soldier with his bride. Ha, ha, Citizen Brissac, I am 
revenged at last ! ' and he and his associates laughed 

Carmelite clung closer to her preserver for protection 
from these wild men, and he endeavoured to reassure 

112 Under the Terror. 

her, apologising as opportunity presented itself for his 
conduct a few minutes before. 

At last he got her to a small house at the extremity 
of the city, and there she found a chaise, with two 
horses, waiting. 

' This is for you, mademoiselle,' exclaimed the ser- 

' For me ? ' 

1 Yes ; ask no questions, please. Go to the driver 
and say " Thormidos," he will reply " Brumaire," and 
all will be well. Mademoiselle will sometimes think of 

' Ever with gratitude,' answered Carmelite, shaking 
his hand cordially. 

The next instant Sergeant Berbins was gone, and in 
the darkness he wiped away a tear from his eye. 

Carmelite advanced like one in a dream. 

In a timid voice she said ' Thormidos.' 

Before she could recover from her astonishment she 
found herself clasped in the arms of a man who sprang 
irom the carriage. He covered her with kisses — he 
called her by her name. 

It was the Viscount D'Evreux. 

' You darling ! ' she murmured. ' Can this be real? r 

' Why not, my sweet one ? ' answered the young 
officer's cheerful voice. ' I have been planning this for 
days past. Did not Berbins tell you? ' 

' Ye-es,' she stammered. 

Sergeant Berbins had behaved nobly after all. If he 
tried to gain her for himself by the invention of a sub- 
terfuge it was because the poor fellow loved her, and 
she resolved that D'Evreux should never learn from 
her the particulars of his attempted treachery. 

Time was precious as D'Evreux hurried her into 
the chaise, which immediately started. 

Carmelite was almost delirious with joy ; her lover, 

Darkest Hour just before Dawn. 113 

whom she thought dead, overwhelmed her with ca- 
resses. After night came the bright morn. It was 
worth while to suffer if awakening to the truth could 
be so delightful. 

They made their escape to Germany, and were after- 
wards married at Coblentz. Sergeant Berbins was 
handsomely rewarded by Carmelite's friends in happier 
times, and in his breast and that of Miss de Brissac's 
was locked the secret of his temptation, and the false- 
hood to which it gave birth, for which, however, he 
had afterwards handsomely atoned. 



Frigid, ice-bound winter had just given place to fresh 
and balmy spring. The grateful earth was preparing 
to bring forth its increase ; the lambs frolicked in the 
fields ; the mavis whistled cheerily amid the green 
leaves of the monarch oaks ; Nature threw off her 
lethargy, and all things animate and inanimate bowed 
down before the mighty life-giver, whose rays glad- 
dened creation, and made the heart of man rejoice. 

Yet was there mourning. 

A noble mansion situated in the heart of a midland 
county had just yielded up its dead. 

Stanforth Harrington, a man of large property, slept 
in the family vault, leaving his wife and daughter to 
lament his loss. 

Colonel Harrington had held a commission in the 
rifle brigade, but retired from the service when an 
estate became his by the death of his father. This 
estate, however, was strictly entailed, and, in default 
of heirs male, passed away from him and went into the 
hands of a distant relation. 

The colonel died young ; but he had always led a 
hard life. The want of a son and heir also affected him, 
and made him more reckless of his health and fortune 
than he otherwise would have been. 

It must not, however, be supposed that Colonel Har- 

A Match-making Mother 115 


rington left his wife and daughter totally unprovided 

On the contrary, his life had heen heavily insured in 
more than one office, and he had private property of his 
own which was absolutely his wife's at his death. 

When this melancholy event occurred, Beatrice Har- 
rington was a little more than seventeen years of age. 

Hers was not the fashionable style of beauty at the 
present day, though she was undeniably lovely. 

Her eyes were full and lustrous, flashing with a 
subtle fire ; her hair dark as a raven's plume ; but her 
complexion delicately white, like polished ivory. Her 
features were of that much-coveted Grecian type, which 
imparts such an air of dignified grace to its possessor ; 
her mouth and ears were small, as were her almost 
Lilliputian hands and feet. In stature she was below, 
rather than above, the average height. 

When she chose, a sweet, ravishing smile stole over 
her face, giving her commanding beauty a power which 
it was difficult to withstand. 

When Beatrice fancied herself unobserved, a pensive 
loveliness took possession of her, which made her, in the 
opinion of some, still more fascinating. 

Mrs. Harrington and her daughter were painfully 
aware that they would be compelled in a short time to 
quit the house which had been a cherished home to them 
for many years. 

The heir-at-law had, through his solicitor, written 
them a peremptory letter, informing them that he should 
expect the premises to be vacated within a given time. 

Bather glad to quit a house which now contained 
nothing for them but gloomy associations, unlightened 
by one gleam of hope in the future, they expedited 
their departure rather than delayed it, and sought re- 
lief in the whirl and bustle of London. 

Fearing to incur the inevitable expense of an hotel 

I 2 

116 A Match-making Mother. 

until the financial condition of their affairs was accur- 
ately ascertained, they took up their abode in modest 
lodgings in the neighbourhood of Bayswater. 

Here they were speedily visited by Mr. Burt, the 
family attorney, a gentleman who had conducted the 
legal business of Colonel Harrington for a considerable 
period of time. 

Mr. Burt was growing old. He had long ago virtually 
given up his business to his two sons, though it was 
still his pride and delight to wander every day over the 
office, and pretend to conduct the various cases that 
were entrusted to the management of the firm. 

In the present instance he had stolen a march upon 
his eldest son, and having gained what may be called 
surreptitious information, walked from Lincoln's-inn to 
Bayswater to let Mrs. Harrington know what her income 
really was to be during her widowhood. 

There were two shops in Oxford Street that little Mr. 
Burt had a weakness for ; one was a tobacconist's, 
whose window had a large sheet of looking-glass in it 
which enabled the lawyer to see if his frilled shirt was 
unruffled, and if his hat was placed jauntily on one side, 
as became a gay old gentleman who had not forgotten 
how to look slily at a pretty girl when he passed her in 
the street. 

The other was a hairdresser's shop, the front of which 
was adorned with the head and shoulders of a lady in 
wax who revolved upon a pedestal, now turning her 
rouged cheeks and cherry-tinted lips to the spectator, 
anon revealing the immaculate purity of her alabaster 
neck and the wondrous parting of her back hair. 

Mr, Burt would stand until the policeman on the 
beat regarded him suspiciously looking at this mimic 
fair one. He ardently wished that kind fate would 
treat him as if he were a second Pygmalion, as he would 
gladly have passed the remainder of his life in worship- 

A MatcJi-makin<r Mother. 117 

ping his mute ideal. It was a wonder he did not summon 
her to show cause why she wasn't real. 

At length he reached Bayswater, and found the ladies 
dressed in deep mourning. They were glad to see him, 
and treated him as an old friend. 

After the usual courtesies had been exchanged, Mrs. 
Harrington exclaimed — 

' You will, I know, Mr. Burt, excuse my anxiety to 
know what provision the colonel has made for us. Of 
course we are fully aware that our circumstances have 
greatly changed since my poor husband's death.' 

' They have,' returned Mr. Burt, pulling up his shirt 
frill. ' But though I have to all intents and purposes 
retired from the business, yet I made it my task to 
obtain the information required by the wife of my old 
friend and patron.' 

' That is very good of you, I am sure,' said Mrs. 
Harrington, scarcely able to conceal her impatience. 

' We find that you will have, when all claims upon 
the colonel are settled, an annual income of seven 
hundred pounds.' 

' And that is all ? ' ejaculated Mrs. Harrington. 

It was not much. 

Accustomed as she had been from her earliest infancy 
to luxuries of every description, and to a superfluity 
rather than a dearth of money, she felt very acutely 
this radical change in her position. 

Although not allied by birth to the aristocracy, Mrs. 
Harrington belonged to a rich City family ; but shortly 
after her marriage one of those periodical crises arrived 
which scattered the wealth of her friends, and destroyed 
both her own and her husband's expectations in that 

After delivering his news, Mr. Burt took a glass of 
wine and his leave, walking back the way he came, 
standing in mute adoration before his idol, and survey- 

118 A Match-making Mother. 

ing his insignificant person in the reflecting glass which 
had been placed there by the spirited proprietor for a 
very different purpose. 

Turning to her daughter, Mrs. Harrington said — 

' Now that we know what we have to depend upon, 
we must look matters in the face.' 

' I'm sure I don't want much, mamma,' replied Bea- 

' Don't talk nonsense, child ; you want everything. 
It is your wants which trouble me.' 

' How can that be ? ' asked Beatrice, in undisguised 

' Because I can do nothing without you. It is to you 
that I look to make a good marriage which will restore 
me to the position we have lost through that unlucky 

' Oh, mamma ! ' exclaimed Beatrice, much shocked, 
' what a time to talk of marriage ! ' 

And she looked deprecatingly from her black dress to 
her mother. * 

' I know it,' replied Mrs. Harrington ; ' and I know 
that we can do nothing for twelve months. The ways of 
society will condemn me to that period of inactivity. 
It has occurred to me that the most sensible thing to do 
will be to accept the invitation sent us by your maiden 
aunt, my sister, and visit her at Torquay for a few 
months. While there you can perfect yourself in Ger- 
man, Italian, and Spanish, and cultivate those musical 
tastes which you possess in so marked a degree.' 

' After that ? ' 

' We must not anticipate, but it is more than probable 
that I shall plan a continental tour. 

The invitation was accepted. The few months ex- 
tended themselves into twelve, and it was exactly a 
year before the Harringtons left the hospitable roof of 
the maiden aunt. 

A Match-making Mother. 119 

When Mrs. Harrington found that nothing but a pru- 
dent and wealthy match on the part of her daughter 
could restore them to anything like their former posi- 
tion, she never lost an opportunity of instilling worldly 
lessons into her mind ; but she did not find her such an 
apt pupil as she could have wis hed. 

Beatrice longed, as every true woman does, for a 
loving heart which she could call her own, and which 
she knew pulsed lovingly for her every minute of the 
day and night. 

Love, even if it were with poverty as a companion ; 
love shaded by misery ; love hand in hand with aliena- 
tion from parent, home, friends. 

Such was her dream. 

When Mrs. Harrington left her sister's house, she 
proceeded to London, and expended a large sum of money 
in providing her daughter and herself with a wardrobe 
of most fashionable and expensive dresses. 

' Dress, my child,' she observed, ' is everything. A 
woman badly dressed, even if she be beautiful as Venus, 
is thrown away. To dazzle, you must dress with per- 
fect taste and costly materials ; taste for the men, cost- 
liness for the women. It is a clever woman's endeavour 
to be envied by the latter, and admired by the former 
at all hazards. 

Whereat Beatrice opened her eyes. 

They determined to proceed to the Continent. Spring 
had come again, and the Paris season was at its height 
when that of London was just beginning. 

Mrs. Harrington armed herself with a few gfood in- 
troductions and started for Dover, where she stayed a 
few days, observing that there were occasionally some 
good people to be met with at Dover. 

It will be observed by the attentive reader that this 
valuable mother never threw a chance away. 

They took up their temporary abode at the Lord 

120 A Match-making Mother. 

Warden, that being acknowledged the best hotel in the 
place, and Mrs. Harrington set herself to find out who 
was staying in the house. 

' Positively no one, my dear,' she exclaimed, as she 
returned from an inspection of the list. ' Not a soul 
who is anybody ; a few tradesmen and parvenues, a 
sprinkling of commercials, a few army men, and voila 

c How tiresome ! ' observed Beatrice, not caring at 
all about the matter, but willing to sympathise with her 
mother in her evident distress. 

' Oh, I must leave to-morrow,' continued Mrs. Har- 
rington ; ' I can never afford to waste money in such a 
barren spot as this.' 

' When you like,' said Beatrice, with a sigh. 

' Ah ! you are right to sigh,' cried her mother ; ' but 
wait — wait until we cross the Channel, then you shall 
see beauty, wealth, rank, and talent, I promise you.' 

In the afternoon they walked on the Parade. The 
wind was rather high, and Beatrice would have lost her 
hat several times, had she not taken the precaution to 
confine it with a piece of elastic. 

Suddenly her mother pinched her arm severely. 

' Oh ! ' ejaculated Beatrice, at a loss to account for 
such strange behaviour. 

' Let your hat fall,' exclaimed Mrs. Harrington. 


' Never mind, do as I tell you,' was the only re- 
sponse her mother condescended to give her. 

Beatrice did as she was bid, and her hat rolled gaily 
along the stones, past a couple of gaily-dressed girls, 
until it brushed against the legs of a gentleman, who 
made a snatch at it, missed it, and ran after it for some 
distance, not desisting until he caught it. 

Then he looked round for its owner. 

Beatrice at once suggested herself; Beatrice, with 

A Mafch-makimr Mother. 121 

l b 

her lovely hair streaming in the breeze, and looking the 
picture of loveliness in distress. 

Advancing towards her, he exclaimed — 

' Pardon me, but I think I have been fortunate 
enough to recover your hat.' 

' Yes, thank you,' said Beatrice, lowering her eyes, 

The man who stood before her was a tall, gentle- 
manly fellow, about five-aud-thirty years of age. His 
manner was bold and defiant, his demeanour singularly 
polite ; but upon his face sat an expression of dissipa- 
tion and sensual indulgence as plainly to be read by a 
practised eye as if it had been engraved upon his mas- 
sive brow. 

' Oh, you are too good,' Mrs. Harrington hastened 
to chime in ; ' my poor Beatrice is so careless. She 
will not take pains. It is quite a charity to scold her 

' I am sure that so charming a young lady cannot 
stand in need of scolding,' said the gentleman, smiling. 

' May we know to whom we are indebted for such 
unexpected kindness ? ' continued Mrs. Harrington, in 
her most persuasive and insinuating manner. 

' I am Sir Frederick Cazenove,' he answered. 

' Thanks very much, Sir Frederick, for your amia- 
bility. We stop a week more in Dover ; may we hope 
to have the pleasure of a visit ? I think I have heard 
my late husband, Colonel Harrington, speak of you ; 
and any friend of his will be of course doubly wel- 


' I do not know the name ; but I shall esteem it an 
honour to call,' answered Sir Frederick. 

So saving, he raised his hat and passed on as Mrs. 
Harrington gave him a nod of adieu. 

' Who is he, mamma ? ' asked Beatrice, when they 
had gone a little way. 

122 A Match-making Mother. 

' Did you not hear him say he was Sir Frederick 
Cazenove ? ' 

' And did papa ever speak of him ? ' 

' No, you simpleton ; that was a device of mine to 
make his acquaintance. I knew he was a man of some 
celebrity, because I saw him come from that yacht lying 
in the harbour.' 

1 When ? ' 

' My dear, you are not nearly observant enough ; you 
are not, indeed. He landed in a small boat ten minutes 

When the mother and daughter returned to the 
hotel Mrs. Harrington inquired respecting Sir Frede- 
rick Cazenove. 

She was informed by a garrulous waiter, a native 
of Dover, that Sir Frederick resided at the Hermitage, 
a few miles inland ; that he had at least fifteen thou- 
sand a year ; that he was very fond of yachting, spent 
much of his time abroad, and was considered rather 
eccentric by the good, sober, honesty-loving people of 

' Excellent ! ' remarked Mrs. Harrington, as she re- 
capitulated all this to her daughter. ' But, dear me, I 
forgot to tell him where we were staying. Still, he 
cannot make a mistake. We did not look like a second- 
rate hotel, did we, my dear ? ' 

' I hope not, mamma,' replied Beatrice. 

Mrs. Harrington devoutly echoed this wish. 

' And so we stop here another week ? ' said Beatrice. 

' Of course ; there is a chance.' 

< Of what ? ' 

' Wait, my child,' replied Mrs. Harrington, oracu- 
larly ; c see what the future will bring forth. It is 
bad to count your chickens before they are hatched, 
however good an incubator your hen may be.' 

Beatrice sighed again. 

A Match making Mother. 123 

She wondered whether the peace she longed for 
would ever be hers. 

Looking out of the window she saw Sir Frederick 
Cazenove's 3 r acht, the ' Phryne,' lying at anchor. 

% I should like to have a yacht ! ' she exclaimed in- 

' That rests entirely with you,' replied her mother, 
who had overheard her remark. 

Beatrice cast down her eyes in confusion. 

She knew to what her mother alluded. 

The waiter at the Lord Warden did not exaggerate 
in the least when he described Sir Frederick Cazenove 
as eccentric. 

He was, indeed, a notorious libertine. 

Those who knew him related stories of which he 
was the hero — stories which made the blood run chill 
and the flesh creep as the speakers spoke with bated 

And yet in appearance he was mild, amiable, and 
gentlemanly in the extreme. It was only in his eye 
that the devil lurked. 

His yacht, a magnificent triumph of the ship-builder's 
art, lay in the basin inside the harbour. On board were 
the captain, and Bowker, the mate. The two sailors who 
completed the complement of the vessel were on shore. 

Captain Hicks was entirely a creature of Sir Frede- 
rick's. He had been saved from a great danger by the 
baronet, and ever since he had attached himself to his 
preserver with extraordinary fidelity. 

The history of Bowker was somewhat different. 

Sir Frederick always preferred to have about him 
men who were either bound to him by gratitude or 
compelled to serve him through fear. 

The latter Avas Bowker's case. 

124 A Match-making Mother. 

Sir Frederick was spending a few days at his seat 
near Dover, the Hermitage. In the middle of the 
night he was aroused by a noise as of a man breaking 
into the house. Seizing a pistol, he went to the spot 
from whence the noise proceeded, and seeing a man in 
the act of decamping with a large parcel of valuable 
property, shot him in the leg, and brought him to the 
ground like a winged pheasant. 

Finding that the fellow was harmless, he summoned 
his valet, a man of the name of Abel Smith, who was 
the depository of many of his master's secrets. 

' This man,' he exclaimed, 'came to visit me, Smith, 
but as he did not announce himself, he met with an ac- 
cident, and I fancy he is badly hurt. Look to him, 
will you ? ' 

Smith knelt down on the carpet, and by the aid of a 
flickering candle examined the man's wound. 

1 I'll tie it up for to-night, sir, but he will require a 
doctor in the morning. The bullet has entered his 
thigh and lodged there.' 

' It has lodged where it is likely to stay until day- 
light,' said Sir Frederick, with a laugh. ' Take his 
heels while I take his head, and let us put him out of 
sight somewhere. 

They carried him to a bedroom in an unfrequented 
part of the house, and there left him groaning terribly. 

A villainous countenance had the man. There was 
nothing intellectual about him. Strength he had, like 
all other brutes, but his ferocity was his chief charac- 

He could not understand the clemency of which he 
was the object. 

' Oh,' thought he, ' they will take me to gaol in the 
morning. It was too late to do so when that cursed 
shot rolled me over like a dog on the carpet.' 

In spite of the pain of his wound he got off to sleep 

A Jfufch -making Mother. 125 

after a time, and did not wake until the doctor roused 

When the bullet Avas extracted the man felt very 
faint from loss of blood, and some of his native ferocity 
had evaporated. 

Sir Frederick came to see him. The wounded man's 
eves glistened as he made his appearance. 

' What's your name ? ' asked Sir Frederick. 

' Bowker,' was the sullen reply. 

' Listen to me, Bowker,' continued the baronet. ' It 
is in my power to hand you over to the police. Were I 
to do so you Avould languish in prison for a consider- 
able period ; but I will consider your wound a sufficient 
punishment on one condition.' 

' What's that, master ? ' inquired Bowker, regarding 
him earnestly from beneath his shaggy brows. 

' You must exchange one sort of servitude for another. 
You must be mine, body and soul ; dare to disobey me, 
and I hand you over to your doom.' 

The man hesitated. 

' I — I'd rather take my chance,' he said. 

' Think ; the choice rests with you. Good food, 
liberal wages, coupled with implicit obedience on the 
one hand ; imprisonment, hard labour — ' 

' I know it all. I've been through it, and rather 
than do it again, I'm yours.' 

This sealed Bowker's fate. 

When his wound was healed he was put on board the 
yacht, and he had been Captain Hick's attendant ever 

Bowker was a gloomy, discontented, surly wretch. 
He had never been married. He had neither friends or 
relations, being a foundling and a parish brat. The 
only thing that he ever attached himself to, or that ever 
attached itself to him, was a huge, savage-looking dog 
of the mastiff breed. 

126 A Match-making Mother. 

Rasper was always at Bowker's side, and the rough, 
beetle-browed man loved him with a wild passionate 
fondness which was the only indication of his possessing 
a heart. 

As for Rasper, he was miserable if he let his master 
out of his sight. 

On the afternoon of the day upon which Mrs. Har- 
rington so cleverly made the acquaintance of Sir Fred- 
erick Cazenove, Captain Hicks had left Bowker and his 
dog in charge of the c Phyrne.' 

Hicks felt, as he phrased it, ' a little spreeish,' so 
he went on shore, and indulged in several libations 
with doubtful females in various taverns and pot- 

When he returned to the yacht, about six o'clock, 
he was rather unsteady about his legs, and had an ir- 
resistible inclination to sway about from one side to the 

It wa3 a little hazy, and Bowker had lighted a fire on 
deck in a brazier, which flamed and flared without shed- 
ding much light upon surrounding objects. 

As the shades of night were falling, Sir Frederick 
Cazenove came on board. 

' Hicks, Hicks ! ' he shouted down the companion. 

' Ay, ay, sir,' responded the captain. 

' Oh, you're there. All right. Stop a minute, I'll 
come down to you.' 

In a few seconds he was in the cabin. 

' Will you try a drop of our grog, Sir Frederick ? ' 
asked Hicks ; ' it's none of your three- water.' 

'Not now,' replied Sir Frederick, removing the 
cigar from his mouth while he spoke ; ' I came to put 
a few questions to you. First of all, how are the stores ?' 

' Not perfect, sir, though pretty nearly so.' 

' Are we ready to put to sea at a moment's notice ? ' 

' No, sir.' 

A Match-making Mother. 127 

' It is as I thought. See to it. In a day or two I 
may wish to up anchor, and set sail for the Mediter- 
ranean. The ladies' cabin/ added Sir Frederick, 'how 
is that?' 

' Just as you left it, sir, when ' 

' Oh, it has not been used since that occasion, eh? 
"Well, you must put it in order. Get the yacht in 
proper trim ; when you want money come to me. See 
to it all. I rely upon you.' 

' Very well, sir, it shall be attended to/ responded 
Hicks, respectfully. 

When the baronet had taken his departure, the men 
looked at one another. 

' The governor's after another petticoat/ exclaimed 
Captain Hicks. 

' He's wonderful at that sort of game/ said Bowker. 
' It's all change with him. He can never stop in one 
place a month. Something new is what he spends his 
life in hunting after.' 

' There's something in the wind, that you may take 
your oath, and we'd better have all taut in case of 

When he was alone in his berth that night, Bowker 
soliloquised — an unusual thing for him — 

' Poor thing ! I wonder who she is. She little 
guesses what's in store for her. There was the last — 
how I pitied her ! never shall I get that sight out of my 
eyes. Her screams seem to ring in my ears still. If I 
could help myself ; but I am bound hand and foot ; no 
slave was ever more securely held in bondage. God 
help his next victim? ' 

Sir Frederick Cazenove did not fail to keep his ap- 
pointment with the Harringtons ; the ensuing day did 
not elapse without his calling at the Lord Warden and 
asking for the ladies with whom he had accidentally 
become acquainted on the Parade. 

128 A Match-making Mother. 

Mrs. Harrington was at home, so was Beatrice. The 
latter had been especially desirous of going out after 
lunch, but her mother would not allow her. 

1 He is sure to call,' she said, ' and I would not have 
you miss him for the world.' 

Sir Frederick Cazenove, the very pink of fashion, 
entered the drawing-room after the waiter, who an- 
nounced him in a loud tone of voice, as if he felt it an 
honour to pronounce his name. 

1 You see, Mrs. Harrington,' said Sir Frederick, with 
a bland smile, i that I have lost no time in accepting 
your invitation.' 

' It gives me great pleasure to see you,' she replied. 
1 Pray take a seat. ' 

Sir Frederick sat down between the mother and 
daughter, but nearest to the latter. 

' Do you stay long in Dover ? ' he asked. 

' Really, I scarcely know ; our movements are so un- 
certain. We are free as air, and having no encum- 
brances can go where we like.' 

' That is precisely my case,' remarked the baronet. 

' How very agreeable ! And are you fond of travel- 

k Adore it ! And you ? ' 

' It has been my sole ambition all my life. Dear 
Beatrice here has such a longing to see Switzerland.' 

' " Where Alps on Alps arise," ' quoted the baronet. 

' Ah ! you are poetical ? But I need not ask that 
question ; every man of taste and refinement must be 

' I had a reason in asking you if you were about to 
stay long at Dover,' continued Sir Frederick. 

' Indeed ! ' 

' The fact is, I ransacked my memory last night, and 
I find that I was intimately acquainted at one time with 
Colonel Harrington of the — the — ' 

A Match-making Mother 129 

' 60th Rifles,' suggested the relict of that gallant 

' Thank you, yes. The name had escaped my me- 
mory at the time you spoke. Now, I should esteem it 
a favour if you would permit me to extend what little 
hospitality is in my power to the widow and daughter 
of so old a friend and worthy a gentleman.' 

Mrs. Harrington raised the corner of her lace-edged 
handkerchief to her eye. 

The kind and generous way in which Sir Frederick 
spoke had presumably affected her to tears. 

' I trust I have not aroused any painful emotions,' 
Sir Frederick hastened to say. 

' N — no,' replied Mrs. Harrington, with a half sob. 
' But I am so very susceptible — my loss is so recent — 
he was so dear to me ! ' 

There was a pause. 

Mrs. Harrington gradually recovered herself. 

' May I flatter myself that my invitation will be ac- 
cepted ? ' continued the baronet. 

' For a few days ; I cannot promise to stay longer. 
Dear Beatrice is dying to reach Paris,' replied Mrs. 

' I will send my carriage for you to-morrow to bring 
you to the Hermitage ; that is arranged.' 

' You are very kind,' returned Mrs. Harrington. 

After some conversation on indifferent matters Sir 
Frederick took his leave. 

Beatrice sat still and did not speak a word. 

' How dull you are, Beaty ! ' said her mother ; ' I 
consider it very unkind of you. Here do I take the 
greatest trouble for your sake, and the whole time Sir 
Frederick was here you would not open your mouth.' 

; For my sake?' 

' Certainly. Is it not the wish nearest my heart to 
see you comfortably settled in life ? ' 


130 A Match-making Mother, 

' There seemed something indecent to 
in the way you fished for an invitation,' replied Beatrice. 
' If, as you say, you never heard the colonel speak of 
Sir Frederick, his declaration of intimacy must have 
been substantially false.' 

' Of course. I knew that very well all the time. 
He has taken a fancy to you, and wishes to have us at 
his place, so that he can make love to you.' 

' Any one would think I was an article of merchan- 
dise to be bought and sold,' said Beatrice, disdainfully. 

' My dear child/ replied her mother gravely, ' peo- 
ple in our position cannot afford to throw chances away. 
Remember that.' 

Beatrice was silent. It was useless to attempt to 
reason with her worldly mother. 

Mrs. Harrington had her way, and when the carriage 
came the next day to convey them to the Hermitage 
they were in readiness. 

The Hermitage was a large straggling house, situated 
in the midst of a handsome park, thickly timbered. 
The walls were for the most part covered with ivy. 
Rooks, wood-pigeons, starlings, and sparrows abounded. 
It was the beau ideal of an old romantic dwelling. 

Beatrice shuddered as she beheld it, but her mother 
was enraptured with it. 

' Oh, what a dear old place ! ' she exclaimed. ' I 
think I could give the world for such a house.' 

' If it isn't haunted I am much mistaken,' rejoined 
Beatrice. ' Those rooms up there, under the tower, 
have an air which speaks volumes, and tells me they are 
peopled with ghosts.' 

' Don't be so absurd ! ' said her mother, angrily. ' A 
girl educated as you have been should know better than 
to indulge such silly fancies.' 

'1 shall not be easy an hour while I am here,' con- 
tinued Beatrice. ' Look at that wing, mamma. Do 

A Match-makin<>- Mother 131 


you notice that the blinds are all pulled down, just as if 
there was some one dead there ? ' 

1 It is disused, perhaps.' 

The carriage now drove up. Sir Frederick stood on 
the step, waiting to receive them, and do the honours of 
his establishment in person. 

He conducted them into the dining-room, which was 
handsomely furnished, though the furniture was all 
antique. Family and other portraits hung from the 
walls. A cold collation was served, to which he invited 
them to do justice. 

They ate the wing of a chicken and drank a glass of 
wine apiece at his request, and were shown to their 
apartments by the housekeeper, an elderly female of 
singularly forbidding aspect. 

The rooms set apart for the mother and daughter 
looked upon the lawn, and were in the centre of the 
house. Although they were replete with every comfort 
they also partook of the ghostly appearance which was 
everywhere so noticeable in this ancient mansion. 

The heavy Arabian bedsteads shrouded in drapery, 
long, rich, and pall-like ; the thick carpets into which 
the foot sank at every turn ; the deep embrasures of 
the windows ; the curious diamond-shaped panes of 
glass set in lead which those windows contained ; the 
dull napping of ivy leaves and branches against the 
panes ; the sullen howl of the wind as it swept under 
the gables and tore round the chimney-tops ; the mas- 
sive oaken wardrobes and chairs, black with age ; the 
huge fire-places and high mantel-pieces — combined 
with the tapestried walls to raise a sensation of awe in 
the mind of the beholder. 

Beatrice shuddered a second time. 

'What ails you, child?' asked her mother, when 
Mrs. Greaves, the housekeeper, had retired and left 
them to themselves. 

K 2 

132 A Match-making Mother. 

' When I entered these rooms I felt a presentiment 
of coming evil. Oh, mamma ! I may be very weak 
and nervous — I am willing to admit that I am a silly 
little fool — but I cannot divest my mind of the belief 
that there is danger lurking in the air.' 

' Danger of what description ? ' asked Mrs. Harring- 
ton, regarding her with a puzzled look. 

1 Nay, that is more than I can tell.' 

' Tut ! ' said Mrs. Harrington, unable to conceal an 
expression of great annoyance ; ' you have been reading 
novels lately.' 

Beatrice sat down in an arm-chair, and burst into 

Her mother did not attempt to comfort her, thinking 
it would be better to let her weep. 

When Mrs. Harrington had changed her dress, 
Beatrice was still crying. 

' If you are so foolish as to make your eyes red and 
swollen,' she exclaimed, i I must leave you here until 
you recover yourself.' 

' Oh, do not leave me ! ' cried Beatrice. 

1 Yes, it is fitting that you should be punished for 
your stupidity. Moreover, you will then have an op- 
portunity of proving how ill-founded your suspicions 

In spite of her daughter's protestations, Mrs. Har- 
rington left her to herself. 

Beatrice, unable to remain alone, quickly changed 
her dress, dried her tears, and prepared to follow her 

But in her eagerness she mistook the way — a very 
easy achievement, by the way, in such an old-fashioned 
house — and instead of going towards the grand stair- 
case proceeded along a corridor which led directly to 
the west wing. 

This part of the house was that which Beatrice had 

A Match -mak'wir Mother. 133 


remarked on account of the blinds bein£f drawn down 
externally, giving it the appearance of being unin- 
habited. That this was not the case, however, oil-lamps 
burning at intervals in the passage clearly proved. 

When Beatrice came to the conviction that she had 
wandered in a wrong direction, she turned to retrace 
her steps. 

Suddenly in the imperfect light she saw a door open, 
and beheld a pair of eyes brightly shining. Almost im- 
mediately the door was closed, and Beatrice went on 
with the impression that she had been favoured with a 
view of a woman's face. 

' There is some mystery about this house,' she mur- 
mured. ' Oh, that I were out of it ! ' 

By dint of perseverance she regained the grand stair- 
case, and descended to the drawing-room, where Sir 
Frederick and her mother were engaged in friendly 

A few days passed very agreeably, in spite of Bea- 
trice's gloomy anticipations. They rode, drove, sketched, 
and yachted. 

A ball was advertised to take place in Dover, in aid 
of some local charity, and Mrs. Harrington expressed a 
wish to go. It was accordingly arranged, and Sir 
Frederick purchased some tickets. 

' I want him to see you in a low dress, Beaty,' said 
her mother. ' Grirls are always so attractive in low 

As Beatrice was alighting from her carriage, a man 
standing on the pavement slipped a note into her hand. 
She took it involuntarily, and the next minute was 
in the building in which the ball was held. 

The man was Bowker. 

"While taking off her shawl, and drinking a cup of 
coffee, she glanced with a woman's curiosity at the 

134 A Match-making Mother, 

It ran as follows — 

' Be particular which way the carriage drives to- 
night. If it goes to the westward , in the direction of 
Shakespeare's Cliff, there is danger ; refuse to proceed, 
and escape at all hazards. A Friend.' 

' Some one is joking with me,' she said to herself. 
' It is a trick ; but I will not be frightened.' 

Certainly the Hermitage was on the eastern side ; 
and if the carriage did bear to the west, it would be a 
remarkable coincidence. 

While listening to the strains of the music and whirl- 
ing in the giddy waltz, she forgot all about the mys- 
terious warning, and laughed as heartily as the rest of 

Sir Frederick Cazenove surpassed himself that even- 
ing to be agreeable to the ladies. 

It was difficult to think anything bad of so amiable a 

To a girl who has seen little of society balls are 
always the oases Avhich render the Sahara of domestic 
life at all bearable. 

Pretty, agile, untiring, conscious of admiration de- 
servedly bestowed, she knows not fatigue, and dances, 
smiles, and chatters incessantly. 
It was so with Beatrice. 
She was in the humour to believe anything. 
Sir Frederick Cazenove took her down to supper, 
purposely losing sight of Mrs. Harrington. A little 
sparkling wine, judiciously applied, made Beatrice still 
more deliciously careless and happy. 

' Shall we join the dancers again ? ' asked Beatrice, 
panting for the ball-room, and seeing that some couples 
were already departing for the Terpsichorean arena. 

* As you please,' he rejoined ; ' I should, however, 
greatly prefer a lounge in the conservatory, and a short 
uninterrupted conversation with you.' 

A Match -making Mother. 135 

' With me ! ' exclaimed Beatrice, elevating her eye- 
brows in surprise. 

They rose from the table and walked leisurely from 
the room. As they quitted it they met Mrs. Harring- 
ton leaning on the arm of an elderly gentleman in 
uniform extensively decors. She smiled, and bowed 
graciously to Sir Frederick Cazenove and her daughter, 
and was evidently much pleased. 

The baronet led his young and lovely partner into a 
long room, which had been fitted up as a conservatory, 
and was filled with numerous shrubs and flowers, 
arranged in such a way as to make many narrow wind- 
ing paths, with seats placed at intervals, after the 
manner of alcoves. 

' Where are you taking me ? ' asked Beatrice, shiver- 
ing, she knew not why. 

Casting a glance of undisguised admiration upon her 
lovely shoulders, her bosom white as driven snow, her 
bare arms, and her pretty face, he answered, while his 
voice trembled with a passion he either could not or did 
not care to conceal — 

' My darling — for you must allow me to call you so 
— I have brought you here to tell you I love you. 
Nay, start not. Since the first moment I beheld you, 
my heart has been irrevocably yours. I felt that you 
were my fate, and I could not resist you. I knew that 
you were my goddess, and I could not help but worship 

' Oh, Sir Frederick ! ' cried Beatrice, who had 
listened to this appeal with breathless astonishment. 
; This is so sudden — I am unprepared. For heaven's 
sake take me back to mamma ! ' 

' Not until I have an assurance from your lips that 
you will return my affection.' 

Beatrice made no reply. 

Her bosom heaved and fell, her face, neck, and 

136 A Match-making Mother 

shoulders became crimson, and then, as the not tide 
receded, she became deadly pale. 

Employing just as much gentle violence as was 
necessary, Sir Frederick Cazenove pressed her back 
into a seat, and placing himself by her side, insinuated 
his arm round her waist, drawing her close to his 

' Dearest/ he cried, in a clear, bell-like voice, which 
was yet low and sweet, and which thrilled through her, 
vibrating pleasantly upon the most sensitive chords of 
her heart, ' dearest, you must — you shall listen to me. 
I can contain myself no longer. ' 

Involuntarily she nestled closer to him, and allowed 
her head to sink upon his shoulder, while she looked 
up dreamily into his handsome, aristocratic face, every 
feature of which was beaming with love for her. 

' If you love me with the same wild, passionate, all- 
sacrificing love I feel for you,' he continued, ' and I 
can read your character and thoughts sufficiently well 
to know that I am far from indifferent to you.' 
Beatrice cast down her eyes in modest confusion. 
' You are not justified in saying that,' she exclaimed, 
' as I have as yet admitted nothing.' 

' But it is true, Beatrice, my darling, my dearest, 
my hope ! ' he cried, eagerly. ' You cannot deny it. 
Come, then, let us fly this very night, and speed to 
climes where our existence can be one dream of love. 

My yacht ' 

Beatrice disengaged herself with a jerk from his 
clinging embrace. 

Her eyes flashed with an indignant fire ; her lips 
were parted, and her bosom, which had before heaved 
with a sensuous passion, now panted with rising rage. 
His meaning was too plain to be mistaken. 

' What ! ' she exclaimed, extending her right hand 
as if to denounce him, ' you dare to talk of love, and in 

A Match-making Mother. 137 

the same breath have the hardihood to make me a 
proposition which involves my dishonour ! ' 

' You mistake my meaning,' he answered^ remaining 
perfectly calm beneath her fierce denunciation. 

His unruffled demeanour rather inclined her to be- 
lieve that she might have misunderstood him, and she 
listened in silence for his explanation. 

' We can sail in my yacht for France, where 
we ' 

She would listen no more. 

' No, Sir Frederick,' she exclaimed, hurriedly, ' I 
can divine your meaning too well. The proposal you 
make to me is dishonourable in the extreme. I was 
weak and foolish just now. I am strong and well 
again, thank heaven, and entreat you to conduct me to 
the ball-room.' 

' In what have I offended you ? ' he asked, rather 
puzzled what course to pursue. 

' You professed to love me — what answer I might 
have been induced a little while ago to give you, in the 
infatuation of the moment, I don't know ; but what 
can I think of a man who asks me to elope with him 
when there could not possibly be any impediment to a 
marriage ? ' 

' I am romantic,' he answered, with a deep sigh ; 
' let that be my excuse for proposing anything of a 
clandestine nature. I have no objection whatever to 
demand your hand in a formal manner of your mother ; 
will that satisfy you ? ' 

' Perfectly,' replied Beatrice, after a moment's con- 

She was naturally of a forgiving disposition, and felt 
only too pleased to receive his apology, for, with his 
gentle manners and handsome face, he had made an 
impression on her heart which she found it difficult to 

138 A Match-making Mother. 

' We are good friends again ? ' lie queried. 

' I hope so.' 

Offering her his arm he led her, suffused with blushes 
and smiles, to the ball-room. Guiding her to a seat 
he exclaimed — 

' I will go and seek Mrs. Harrington if you will 
kindly remain here.' 

' If any one should tempt me to dance ? ' 

' You must turn a deaf ear, and refuse to be 

' Oh, what tyrants you men are when you think you 
have acquired a little power over us ! ' exclaimed 

He left her alone, and pretended to look for Mrs. 
Harrington, who, however, was snugly ensconced in 
the supper-room, devoting her attention partly to roast 
chicken and ham, and partly to the rather stale, and 
not altogether merited compliments paid her by her 
cavalier, who was solely actuated by a hope that, 
through ingratiating himself with the mother, he 
might stand a chance of an introduction to her lovely 

When Sir Frederick Oazenove returned he said to 
Beatrice — 

' Your mother is tired to death ; she declares she 
has been looking everywhere for you, and has just 
allowed me to place her in the carriage, where she now 
awaits your coming.' 

1 Indeed ! ' said Beatrice. 

She did not suspect him of any sinister design, and 
jumped up with alacrity, adding — 

' Poor dear mamma, I know she soon gets tired, and, 
to tell the truth, I feel a little knocked up.' 

They had by this time reached the staircase, down 
which Sir Frederick hurried her, fearful lest Mrs. 
Harrington should meet them on the stairs, when of 

A Match-miikinu; Mother. 139 


necessity all his plans would be discovered and frus- 

Fortunately for himself, but unhappily for Beatrice, 
thev did not encounter Mrs. Harrington. Beatrice 
went into the room where she had left her shawl, and 
throwing it over her shoulders accompanied Sir Frede- 
rick to the door, where his carriage was waiting, as she 
thought, to convey them to the Hermitage. 

A black servant of Sir Frederick's, named Mustapha, 
wearing a turban, the short jacket and loose trousers 
which characterise the inhabitants of the East — a fellow 
half- Turk, half-Greek — opened the door of the car- 


It was rather dark outside, and though the lamps 
shed a sickly glare in the road, Beatrice could see no- 
thing distinctly, owing to the sudden change from a 
blaze of light to comparative darkness. 

She had seen Mustapha before at the Hermitage, so 
that his appearance did not startle or surprise her in 
the least. 

As soon as she was in the carriage Sir Frederick 
Cazenove sprang lightly after her, Mustapha jumped 
on the box beside the coachman, and the vehicle drove 
off at a quick pace. 

For a moment Beatrice did not remark that her 
mother was absent from the carriage. 

She had scarcely pulled up her dress and settled her- 
self comfortably in a corner, when the fact burst upon 

1 Where — where — where's mamma ? ' she stammered. 

i Pardon the deception I have had recourse to,' ex- 
claimed Sir Frederick. ' I ' 

' Oh, let us out ! ' cried Beatrice, now fearfully 
alarmed. ' I will get out ! Such treatment is mon- 
strous ! ' 

She endeavoured to open the window, but twining 

140 A Match-making Mother. 

his strong arm around her he effectually prevented her 
from doing anything of the sort. 

She raised her voice and began to scream, thinking 
that she should thereby call the attention of some be- 
lated passer-by to her desperate position, and obtain 

Sir Frederick drew her to him and stopped her cries 
with kisses, which she did her best to ward off. 

1 It is useless to resist,' he exclaimed, when she be- 
came a little calm. ' No harm will happen to you ; 
why be so alarmed. I am not an ogre.' 

' 0, what will become of me ? ' cried Beatrice clasp- 
ing her hands. 

Her heart sank within her. She was completely in 
the power of a man whom she knew to be a libertine 
from what he had said to her that evening. By a 
stratagem he had taken her away from her only pro- 

When the carriage reached the end of the street she 
found to her dismay that it turned to the west, and 
was going in a direction totally opposite to that of the 

' What have I done that I should be treated thus ? ' 
she cried in a moaning voice. 

1 My dear child, do not give way to such excessive 
grief,' exclaimed Sir Frederick, compassionating her 
unmistakable distress. 

' I cannot help it,' she sobbed. 

Her fortitude gave way, and she had recourse to a 
woman's inevitable vent for an overburdened mind. 

' I assure you that you have nothing to fear/ he 
said in a soothing voice. ' I love you very dearly, it is 
true, but that is an additional reason why I should treat 
you with kindness and consideration. " The Phryne 
is moored under the cliffs. I shall take you on board, 
and we will sail to another land, where — ' 

A Match-making Mother. 141 

' Xo, no, a thousand times no ! ' cried Beatrice, whom 
these words worked into a frenzy of excitement. 
' Death is preferable to dishonour.' 

' I intend you no dishonour,' he rejoined. ' We can 
procure a priest without any difficulty, who will make 
us man and wife.' 

' I distrust you,' she replied. ' Why, if your inten- 
tions are fair and honourable, should you have recourse 
to this violence, as I told you in the ball-room my 
mother would have had no objection to the union ? ' 

' I detest anything formal.' 

' That is an excuse. I am confident that you intend 
to ruin me ; but I warn you that death is preferable to 
dishonour. I will perish by my own hand, and if I can 
find no dagger, no knife wherewith to kill myself, I 
will plunge into the sea.' 

' This passionate rage, darling, very much becomes 
you,' said Sir Frederick tauntingly ; ' you are very lovely. 
Xo knife would be so cruel as to pierce that fair skin, 
no sea so wicked as to drown you.' 

The carriage drew up with a sudden jerk. 

They had reached that particular part of the cliff 
where, by crossing the railway, and taking a winding 
path, they would reach the beach. 

The town of Dover lay in repose on their left ; be- 
hind them was the dark country, stretching for many 
miles inland ; to the right, frowning majestically, was 
Shakespeare's Cliff; before them extended the placid 
ocean, unruffled by the slightest breeze. 

The ripple of the wavelets as they broke upon the 
pebbly beach was distinctly audible. 

A short distance from the shore could be seen the 
' Phryne.' A light was displayed at her bows, and a lan- 
tern, which moved with every undulation of the sea, 
indicated that a boat was waiting for the arrival of the 
profligate baronet and his beautiful victim. 

142 A Match-making Mother. 

Sir Frederick Cazenove sprang out of the carriage, 
and extended his hand to assist Beatrice to alight, taking 
it for granted that she would accompany him without 
any demur. 

She descended from the carriage, but no sooner had 
her feet touched the ground, than she darted forward 
with the rapidity of lightning, and, eluding his grasp, 
disappeared in the darkness. 

' Lights ! ' shouted Sir Frederick, foaming with rage. 
' Lights here ! The girl has escaped me. Mustapha, 
you black scoundrel ! after her, sir ! ' 

The black no sooner heard this command than he 
hastened in pursuit of Beatrice, who, as far as he could 
see in the hurry and confusion of the moment, had 
taken the direction of the cliff, and was ascending its 
precipitous side with the agility of a chamois. 

The men in the boat, who were no other than Cap- 
tain Hicks and Bowker, hastened over the beach and 
across the railway to the spot at which the carriage had 

' What's the matter, Sir Frederick ? ' inquired Hicks. 

On Bowker's face there was an expression of pleasure. 
He could guess what had happened. The driver, an 
old hand, and accustomed to these adventures of his 
master, sat still and stolid on his box, troubling himself 
about nothing but his horses. 

' Matter, my good fellow ! ' replied Sir Frederick ; 
' matter enough. The cursed girl has got away after 
all my trouble.' 

' In what direction ? ' 

' Up the cliff ; but it's so infernally dark that she 
may have doubled, and be making for the town. Do 
you, Hicks, go up the cliff and search for her ; you, 
Bowker, had best go to the town and guard the road. 
She must be caught, or I shall have to make myself 
scarce in Dover for a time.' 

I Match-making Mother 143 


The two men started off, each in a different direction, 
to obey their master's behest. 

In the meantime Beatrice had pursued a path which 
led her up the cliff. She toiled laboriously to gain the 
summit, thinking that she was gaining on Sir Frederick 
and his myrmidons, and consoling herself with the re- 
flection that she could throw herself over the cliffy and 
be dashed to pieces on the rocks below, if she were 

It was a very dark night ; scarcely a star was to be 
seen. Now and then a phosphorescent glow broke out 
on the sea as a larger wave than usual disturbed its 
surface ; but it was with the utmost difficulty, and, 
indeed, almost by a miracle, that she kept the path. 

It was an awful reflection that one false step would 
precipitate her into eternity ; but she had no time for 

It was fortunate that it was so ; had she enjoyed time 
and leisure for meditation, her brain would have tem- 
porarily given way, and she would have sank insensible 
on the ground, an easy prey to her would-be seducer. 

At length she halted, thoroughly exhausted. Lean- 
ing forward, and straining her faculties to the utmost, 
she listened. 

The heavy breathing of a man labouring up the steep 
hill fell upon her startled ears. 

' Oh God ! ' she cried ; ' they are upon me ! ' 

Stepping forward wearily, she prepared to continue 
her flight. 

She had not proceeded more than a dozen paces, how- 
ever, before she felt the earth giving way beneath her 

Treading inadvertently, in the darkness of the night, 
upon a rotten part of the cliff, it had given way with 

A desi >airino- shriek broke from her as she felt herself 

144 A Match-making- Mother. 

falling— falling like a rebellious angel hurled through 
space down to the bottomless pit by the divine wrath. 

Her senses were leaving her. 

Suddenly she struck with considerable violence against 
some hard substance. 

Her fall was arrested. 

Providentially, after falling a few feet, she had struck 
upon a projecting ledge of rock. 

This accident, dreadful though it appeared, had saved 

In another minute the black Mustapha, following her 
with the unerring instinct of a bloodhound, would have 
seized and dragged her with a wild glee to the vessel, 
hoping thereby to gain his master's good opinion, and 
receive a handsome reward. 

She was not much hurt. 

Fearing to move, lest she might topple over and perish 
on the rocks below, she remained perfectly still, anxiously 
awaiting the appearance of morning. 

Mustapha, finding that his exertions were lamentably 
wasted, and that he was merely jeopardising his valuable 
neck in wandering up and down the cliff, returned to 
his master, whose rage, though still intense, had some- 
what subsided. 

' Well ! ' he ejaculated as the black appeared. 

' I can see nothing of the lady, sir,' replied the black. 

' That is strange,' said Sir Frederick Cazenove; 'can 
she have tumbled into the sea ? Whatever her fate, I 
shall go on board the yacht and cruise in the channel 
until the evening, when two lights displayed as usual — 
green over blue — will bring me back.* 

' Shall I remain on the watch ? ' inquired Mustapha. 

' Yes,' said Sir Frederick ; c it may be productive of 
some good. Keep guard on the cliff unitl the morning.' 

' If I should meet with the lady ' 

' Conduct her at once and at all hazards to the Her- 

A Match-makini>- Mother. 145 

mitage. Sec to this, and you shall have no cause to 
regret your zeal.' 

The black bowed low. 

Captain Hicks sounded a whistle, which had the 
effect of brin£ino; Bowker to the scene of action. 

' Follow me, Sir Frederick,' exclaimed Captain 
Hicks. ' The path to the beach is a little awkward to 
those unaccustomed to its tortuous windings.' 

' Stand aside, man,' replied Sir Frederick, contemp- 
tuously ; ' if I don't know it as well as you, may I never 
plan another abduction.' 

He was fond of speaking roughly and rudely to his 
dependants, and occasionally resorted to blows to further 
impress his meaning upon them. 

The quietude which had up to the present time char- 
acterised the atmosjDhere no longer existed. For some 
hours dark banks of clouds had been drifting up from 
the southward, bringing a cold wind with them, a few 
drops of rain plashed upon the ground, and the crescent 
moon, rendered visible occasionally as the patches of 
ragged clouds swept past it, sufficed to show that the 
sea was heaving restlessly. 

' A dirty night,' said the skipper, shaking his head 

' That may or may not be,' observed Sir Frederick. 
' If the wind rises, there may be a little swell on the 
shore, but we shall be safe enough in mid-channel.' 

' I would rather run over to Calais, if you have no 
objection, Sir Frederick,' said Captain Hicks. 

' You may go to the devil for what I care,' replied 
his gracious master ; ^that is, provided you let me 
alone. When I'm on board I shall turn in, and I won't 
be disturbed on any account — not even if the sky falls 
or it rains little fishes.' 

' It is to be hoped you will wake in a better temper,' 
muttered Captain Hicks, adding in a low tone to Bow- 


146 A Match-making Mother. 

ker — ' I don't half like the look of the weather, and 
we'll cut right across and lie snug in Calais Harbour.' 

' Ay, ay,' said Bowker ; ' I'm your man. It's some 
time since I said parley-voo to any one of your mos- 

' There was a little bit of a French girl, wasn't there ? 
one of those ' 

' Stow that, cappen ! ' cried Bowker getting red in 
face, and walking on ahead to conceal his confusion. 

The party embarked on board the yacht, which was 
soon standing away from the shore in the track of the 
mail-steamer which had a short time before preceded 
them across the Channel. 

Mustapha had a long and solitary vigil. 

Captain Hick's predictions about the weather were 
not realised : the wind shifted, the rain held up, and the 
stars came out. 

The black was a faithful servant. Sir Frederick 
Cazcnovc did not rule him through fear. His obedi- 
ence and unscrupulous fidelity to his master were 
prompted by love. Sir Frederick had saved Mustapha' s 
life, under peculiar circumstances, during one of his 
journeys in the East, and ever since that day the life he 
saved had been devoted to his service. 

On the top of the cliff was an old hut. It had pro- 
bably served as a protection to the coast-guardsmen, 
but was in a terribly dilapidated condition. Its wretched 
timbers leant one against the other, and it was guiltless 
of a roof. It served, however, as a poor protection 
against the violence of the wind, and towards morning 
Mustapha, espying it, strolled in, leant against the side, 
and inadvertently went to sleep. 

How long he slept he did not know, but when he 
woke it was broad daylight. Starting up with an oath, 
which did not become a good Moslem, he rubbed his 
eyes, and darted out on to the cliff. 

A Match-making Mother. 147 


A man and a bov wore walking together on the vero-e. 
The man had a coil of rope in his hand, one end of 
■which was fastened to a crowbar driven firmly into the 

Sauntering up to him, Mustapha looked on at his 
preparations, wondering what he was about to do. 

The man was a samphire-gatherer. In order to ob- 
tain the little plant called samphire, he daily jeopardised 
the life of his son. 

Without taking any notice of the black, he fastened 
the rope around his child's waist, and with great solici- 
tude lowered him over the cliff". 

In one hand the boy carried a basket of small dimen- 
sions, in the other a knife. 

Suddenly the rope jerked. 

' Hallo ! ' cried the man ; ' something wrong.' 

And he began pulling up rapidly hand over hand. 

Presently the boy's head appeared at the surface. 

Hauling him on to the land, his father said — 

' What's the matter, Johnny ? ' 

' About ten feet down, father, lying on a ledge of 
rock, is a woman, and she is so still and quiet, I think 
she is dying.' 

At the mention of a woman, Mustapha listened atten- 

"What if she should prove to be the missing lady of 
whom he was in search ? 

His resolution was taken immediately. 

The samphire-gatherer regarded his boy with aston- 

' A woman, did you say ? ' he exclaimed. 

i Yes, father,' replied the lad. 

' How is she dressed ? ' 

' Like a lady.' 

' Oh ' ' exclaimed Mustapha, Avringing his hands. 
1 Perhaps it is my poor dear mistress. She came on 

148 A Hatch-making Mother. 

the cliff last night for a walk after the ball, and I have 
been searching for her ever since.' 

' Your mistress, eh ! ' ejaculated the samphire- 

'Yes, my good man,' replied the black. ' You shall 
have gold — much gold — if you will bring her to the 
ground here.' 

' I'll have your money if I earn it,' returned the 
man, ' though, for the matter of that, I would gladly 
save a fellow-creature's life for nothing. You must 
stand by the rope, and help the lad to haul up — first 
the lady, and then me. Stand firm, for the love of 
God. There must be no blundering or hesitation in 
this work, or it's just being pitched headlong into 
eternity, that's all.' 

' And enough too,' said Mustapha. ' Never fear. 
Though my skin is a different colour from your own, I 
have some strength in my arms, and you need not be 
afraid to trust to me.' 

' I'll risk it,' said the samphire-gatherer. 

Setting his lips firmly together, he unfastened the 
rope from the lad's waist, and tied it round his own, 
giving Mustapha instructions the while how he should 
lower him over the cliff. 

At length everything was ready, and he disappeared 
over the precipice, Mustapha paying out the rope little 
by little. 

At length there was a jerk. 

Some minutes elapsed, which appeared an age to 
those on the bank, so great was their anxiety to know 
whether the lady was alive or dead. 

When the rope again jerked, Mustapha hauled it up 
slowly, so as to prevent the strain upon it causing the 
strands to snap. 

_ Up, up, until the skirts of a white muslin dress was 
visible ; up, until the inanimate body of a woman, 

A Jfatch-?naki?ti>- Mother. 149 

and that woman Beatrice Harrington, was safely 

The samphire-gatherer had, with a courage beyond 
all praise, left himself on the ledge, entirely at the 
mercy of those above. 

As soon as he could disengage the rope, Mustapha 
lowered it again. It was successfully caught by the 
samphire-gatherer, who in his turn was brought to the 
top of the cliff. 

Mustapha now despatched the lad into the town 
for a fly. To carry Beatrice in his arms to the Her- 
mitage was out of the question, and while awaiting the 
arrival of the carriage, he conversed with the samphire- 
gatherer, and gave him a sovereign which he had in his 

Beatrice did not open her eyes. She seemed com- 
pletely exhausted. The fact was, she had remained in 
her desperate position until her brain gave way. She 
was delirious with fear, and had not her senses left her 
she would probably have fallen over the side, and have 
died miserably. 

"When the fly came, Beatrice was placed in it, and 
driven to the Hermitage. She was carried to the old 
bedroom in which she had slept before, and laid on the 
bed, while Mustapha went to another part of the house 
and sought Mrs. Greaves, the housekeeper, to whom he 
briefly related what had occurred. 

Mrs. Greaves listened with a frown upon her wrinkled 

' I wish,' she exclaimed, when the black had finished 
his recital, ' that Sir Frederick hated women as much 
as I do, then we shouldn't have the house continually 
turned topsy-turvy for the painted things. Tell Miss 
Maynard I want her.' 

To find this lady Mustapha had to go to the west 
wing. Miss Maynard was a lady of about six-and- 

150 A Hatch-making Mother. 

thirty years of age, with a pensive countenance. On 
making inquiries, he found she was in the garden, and 
there he spoke to her. 

She went at once to Mrs. Greaves, and was briefly 
informed of the singular adventure of which Beatrice 
was the heroine, but refused to have anything to do 
with her detention. 

' Heaven knows, Mrs. Greaves,' she exclaimed, ' that 
I have enough on my mind as it is. For seven years 
have I been — ' 

1 Hush ! ' cried the housekeeper in a tone of alarm. 
1 It is dangerous to speak above your breath.' 

' You know what I mean, so further explanation is 
not needed. I implore you, however, to manage this 
affair yourself. If you cannot do so, I will step in at 
the last moment; but I have a woman's repugnance to 
assist Sir Frederick in the execution of schemes which 
are too disgraceful and serious in their consequences to 
dwell upon.' 

' It is always I who have to do everything,' said 
Mrs. Greaves in a passion, flouncing out of the room, 
and leaving Miss Maynard with Mustapha. 

The lady heaved a deep sigh. 

Mustapha was about to withdraw, when she beckoned 
him to her side. 

' When this girl recovers,' she exclaimed, ' let me 
know. I will visit her.' 

' Yes, miss,' replied Mustapha. 

Then Miss Maynard retired to the west wing, and 
busied herself in duties which are of no interest to the 

When Beatrice came to herself, she fancied she was 
dreaming. Back again in the old Hermitage ! It 
could not be. Was she able to credit the evidence of 
her senses ? 

Mrs. Greaves had been watching her, and that lady's 

A Match-making Mother. 151 

harsh voice soon persuaded her that she was not in the 
land of spirits. 

i So you arc awake at last, young lady ! ' she ex- 
claimed. ' Don't look so scared. This is the house 
you were visiting a short time back. Your mamma 
left this morning in great disgust, thinking you had 
eloped with Sir Frederick, and is now at the Lord 
"Warden, in Dover, sending telegrams to different 
parts, communicating with the detective police, and 
lamenting that she didn't make you a ward in Chan- 

' How did I come here ? ' asked Beatrice, still be- 

' Mustapha brought you.' 

' But the cliff — I can hear the shrill cries of the 
sea-mew, the howl of the wind, the wash of the sea 
on the rocks below. God, the horror of that 

' According to the black's account, you were drawn 
up from your perilous position by a samphire-gatherer.' 

'May I not go and join my mother?' exclaimed 
Beatrice. ' Believe me, I feel deeply grateful to all of 
you for your kindness.' 

' Sir Frederick's permission must be obtained before 
you can be allowed to quit this house,' answered Mrs. 

' Sir Frederick ! where is he ? ' 

' Xever mind ; perhaps he will be here quite soon 
enough for you.' 

' That is an additional reason,' said Beatrice, earn- 
estly, ' why you should assist me to escape. He has 
made dishonourable proposals to me.' 

' I can readily believe that,' returned Mrs. Greaves, 
with a grim smile, ' and I can tell you that you are not 
the first, by some dozens, he has treated in the same 
way, if that is any consolation to you.' 

152 A Match-making Mother. 

The mocking tone in which the woman spoke made 
the girl's blood run cold. 

' Are — are you serious ? ' she gasped. 

' There is never much in this house to make me 
anything else. Make up your mind to stay here. I 
will send you up another dress, so that you can make 
yourself look decent.' 

And, as if to prevent any farther conversation, she 
abruptly left the room. A housemaid soon afterwards 
brought her some articles of wearing apparel, and when 
she had made her toilette, a small but substantial 
repast, for which she was very grateful, Avas sent to her 
on a tray. 

Deeply meditating, Beatrice sat in the sitting-room 
which had been provided for her. 

All at once her privacy was intruded upon by Mus- 
tapha, who ushered in Miss Maynard. 

There was something in this lady's face which served 
to reassure Beatrice. 

Obeying an instinctive impulse she sprang forward 
and seized her by the hand, exclaiming, 

' I do not know who you are nor whence you come, 
but something tells me you are a friend, and mean to 
deliver me.' 

' Indeed, you are greatly mistaken,' replied Miss 
Maynard. ' I intend to do nothing of the sort.' 

Beatrice's countenance fell. 

A peculiar look, however, with which Miss Maynard 
favoured her, served to reassure her a little. 

Mustapha was standing near the door watching the 
two ladies with curious eyes. 

' You can withdraw,' exclaimed Miss Maynard. 

He salaamed and withdrew at once. 

When they were alone, she exclaimed in an eager 

' My dear girl, you judged correctly — I am your 

A IS latch -making Mother. 153 

friend, but this house is so full of spies and secrets, 
that it is dangerous to speak above one's breath. I 
came with the intention of delivering you from a fate 
to which death is preferable.' 

' Who are you ? ' asked Beatrice. 
' Ask me not. I can only tell you that I am what I 
trust you may never be,' replied Miss Maynard sadly. 

' Pardon so rude a question. It was only put with 
the object of learning to whom I was indebted for so 
much unmerited kindness.' 

' Not unmerited. You are a woman, and in distress. 
I came here to succour you ; put on your bonnet, and 
follow me.' 

' I have none. You forget, or you have not heard, 
that I was at a ball last night.' 

' It had escaped my memory ; take my own. We 
do not study the fashions here, but you will find it 
serviceable. Myjacket too is at your service. Do not 
tarry. The servants are at tea, and I wish to get you 
away from here before Sir Frederick returns.' 

' Then he is not at present an inmate of the Her- 
mitage ? ' 

1 No, he is at sea in his yacht, so Mustapha informs 

The transference of the bonnet and jacket was soon 
accomplished, and Beatrice was successfully conducted 
into the garden, and from thence guided out of the 
grounds by her kind friend and ally. 

i We must part here,' said Miss Maynard. 
'Thanks, thanks; a thousand thanks!' exclaimed 
Beatrice, affected almost to tears. ' If we must part, 
at least do not stifle the new-born friendship I feel 
springing up in my heart. Tell me to whom I am in- 
debted ?' 

' I am called Cora,' replied Miss Maynard ; ' and if 
ever you should return to this house — ' 

154 A Match-making Mother. 

1 Never — never ! ' 

1 Be not too sure. Sir Frederick Cazenove is one of 
those remarkably pertinacious men who never abandon 
a promised pleasure. It is far from improbable that 
you will visit the Hermitage again. If I should un- 
happily prove a true prophet, remember that Cora will 
always be your friend.' 

Beatrice smiled incredulously. 

Kissing Miss Maynard on each cheek, she took her 
leave, and then walked quickly in the direction of 
Dover, which she reached in about an hour. 

She found that the waiters and the other loungers 
about the hotel regarded her strangely, and whispered 
among themselves as she approached. 

Taking no notice of them, she walked upstairs and 
entered the sitting-room which had been occupied by 
her mother and herself. 

Mrs. Harrington was seated at a table penning a 
despatch, or rather writing a letter, to her solicitors, 
the Messrs. Burt, respecting the elopement of her 

As the door opened, she uttered a cry of astonish- 

To see her daughter back again was indeed a surprise, 
as she fully believed she had eloped with Sir Frederick 
Cazenove ; and she had industriously noised the report 
all over Dover, saying to herself, ' He must marry her 
when the thing is made so public' 

' Is it you, Beatrice ?' she exclaimed. ' Where is 
your husband ? ' 

1 What on earth do you mean, mamma ? ' replied 

' You went away with Sir Frederick Cazenove last 
night. I have witnesses to prove it ; and if you come 
back four-and-twenty hours afterwards, s you return to 
me dishonoured.' 

A Match-making Mother. 155 

' Hear my story, and you will alter your opinion.' 

' I can listen to nothing !' hastily interrupted Mrs. 
Harrington. ' The most romantic story in the world 
would be no palliation of — ' 

' But I insist upon it,' said Beatrice, stamping her 
foot imperatively on the floor ; ' after what you have 
said, I have a right to demand to be heard.' 

Finding her daughter resolute, Mrs. Harrington con- 
sented to hear her story. When she had concluded, 
she said in a low voice, and with a crestfallen air — 

' I am bound to believe you, and after what has 
happened, the only admission I can make is, that I have 
made a fool of myself. We must leave Dover imme- 

' And go — ' 

' To — to Italy — anywhere. I would go to Jericho if 
I thought this foolish affair would be unknown there. 
The packet leaves in an hour. Let us hasten to put 
our things together.' 

In an hour and a half from that time the Harringtons 
Avere on their way to France. 

Sir Frederick Cazenove and Beatrice never met 
ao-ain. The Harringtons remained abroad for some 
years, and when they returned to England, the match- 
making mother had the satisfaction of knowing that 
her daughter had changed her name, and that those 
who would have smiled at that of Beatrice Harrington 
could say nothing to that of the Countess Delia Spada, 
which she had acquired through marrying the wealthy 
nobleman who bore that title. 

The second attempt succeeded better than the first. 
But then, after all, these things require a little practice. 



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